


An Angel and a Demon's Beginners' Guide to Ineffability

by elf_on_the_shelf



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), A lot of Angels all around, And Anathema isn't fucking stupid, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically everybody ships it, Because burning down the Prophecies was fucking stupid, But then again he's always been a dick, Crowley and Aziraphale are bad at feelings both in their own uniquely stupid way, Eventual Romance, F/M, Features some of the new Prophecies, First Kiss, First Time, Gabriel's being a dick, Getting Together, God Ships It, God appears in several chapters and She is not amused, Heaven seeks its vengeance, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oh my God I reached 100K!, Protective Aziraphale, Protective Crowley, Slight Canon Divergence, Some of the other Angels are also dicks, The Bentley also ships it, There's some nice Angels thrown in for good measure, This is all going to be shamelessly tropey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 17:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 71
Words: 142,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20393515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elf_on_the_shelf/pseuds/elf_on_the_shelf
Summary: What if 6000 years of mutual pining isn't enough and we get to have more? Supernatural entities can be as oblivious as the rest of us. Sometimes, even more so.Or, more plainly put:This is going to be the slowest of slowburns.Anathema, Adam and Warlock want those two walking disasters getting together.Unfortunately, our main protagonists are being rather dense.Also unfortunately both Heaven and Hell want to see them punished for what they did.Actually, Heaven a lot more then Hell, seeing as angels are being a bunch of holier-than-thou knobs.Will figure a lot of God content in later chapters.





	1. The Bus Stop at the end of the Lane

**Author's Note:**

> I've been a fan of the book for a long while now but it never featured in my top five works by Terry Pratchett which I read religiously more than a dozen times, so much in fact that the books started fraying at the edges. I've only read Good Omens three times - four if I'm counting rereading the new edition I have just bought with Paul Kidby's amazing illustrations. It was my first encounter with Gaiman via Pratchett and quite a fruitful encounter it was as it opened the floodgates to even more amazing storytelling. And then Neil went and produced the series as a tribute to Terry and my heart went all fuzzy when I read or saw the interviews and I was thinking - well, this is all nice and well and I'll get to see an accurate depiction of the book, but I was hoping, deep down, that with the notoriety of the soon to be released show they'll gather enough publicity to actually do a show about Discworld's Watch. So I stored it down in the back of my mind until the show finally aired. And boy, oh boy, was I taken by storm by the show itself who managed to not only exceed my expectations but to bludgeon them over the head so much that for a week I only watched Good Omens. I think I watched it six times. And then continued to talk about it relentlessly for the next week. And then watched it again with my boyfriend for good measure. And then lurked and refreshed Ao3 and Tumblr several times a day from the day it aired till now. So here we are. It's going to be a bumpy ride, so buck up buckaroos as the shitshow unfolds.  
Comments are something I crave - as a non-British person and also as someone with no beta reader (we fall like Crowley) comments are very welcome indeed.

**Saturday. One hour and a half after the end of the world.  
Tadfield. Exterior.**

Crowley was still trying to come to terms with the enormity of what had transpired or, in this particular case, didn’t, when he felt a pat on his shoulder. He turned around, much too focused on the myriad thoughts swarming through his mind to even hear someone approach. He was surprised to see it was Adam. _Shocked rather._  


Firstly, because he had witnessed his father (not real father, but real enough, at least according to Adam) throw a hissy fit that ended with the boy getting grounded for the better part of eternity.  


Secondly, he had only just met Adam due to that unforeseeable (very, very foreseeable) cock-up eleven years ago. He didn’t think he’d be a person of interest to a boy who’s hardly known him, especially since that boy was eleven years old and portrayed all the ADHD symptoms one would associate with that age.  


‘Weren’t you supposed to be grounded, boy?’ he drawled more out of habit’s sake rather than annoyance as he scooted over a bit on the hedge he was currently sprawled over to make room for Adam to sit next to him. The boy nodded and sat down.  


‘I am. Will be, starting tomorrow. I told them I had something important to do so they were okay with it.’  


_Course they were, you’re the bloody Antichrist._ Well, not that bloody since he singlehandedly put a stop to the Apocalypse, but the Antichrist still.  


‘Mhm,’ he intoned deadpanned.  


He liked children. Always had. But that wasn’t to say he was any good with them. _Just look at how Warlock had turned out_. That had probably to do a bit more with his dad being a dumb and absent cunt and his mother a bit of a wine mom more than it had to do with him, but there you had it.  


‘So, you’re a demon then,’ Adam stated more than asked. Crowley threw him a sideways glance and nodded.

‘You don’t look like a demon.’  


At this Crowley snorted and pushed the sunglasses down his nose giving Adam a very pointed, very snake-like look.  


‘Yeah, alright, snake eyes and all. But snakes aren’t particularly nasty creatures. I think they’re quite nice.’  


_Nice?! What was it with people and that word? _But he wasn’t about to throw a fit in front of a child, Antichrist or not.  


‘But you’re not evil,’ Adam continued. ‘Not like they said in church. You’re supposed to have like claws and hooves and teeth and the like and want to kill people and steal their souls. At least that’s what vicar Pickersgill told us when Brian asked about the whole Hell business. Pepper said there’s no such thing as Hell, so yeah.’  


‘Well, of course vicar _whatshisface_ did. Bunch of holier-than-though twats, the lot of them.’  


He failed to add _Pepper is a very opinionated person for an eleven-year-old and, she is not the first, nor would she be the last human to decree God doesn’t exist to appear edgy_.  


Adam grinned widely and Crowley surmised giving the finger to the Catholic Church was not proper etiquette when children were involved.  


‘So, what about you, then?’ he tried leading the conversation in a different direction. ‘Son of Satan and all that? You were supposed to bring about the End of Days and there you were, telling them all to shove it – what’s that got to say about you? Don’t judge a book by it’s cover, amirite?’  


He groaned. That was something Aziraphale would say with a smug smile on that stupid face of his. Crowley didn’t even read books, never mind remark upon their covers.  


‘I love it here. Why would I want things to be different?’  


‘You and me both, kid. Well, not _here_ here. It’s rather boring if you ask me. But the world in general. I’ve been around for millennia. I don’t want to see it blown up just like that only to see whichever side’s got the biggest – well…_ahem_.’  


Adam was fiddling about with Dog’s leash while said dog was yapping on the other side of the road trying to pester a flock of geese but being actually pestered in return (a flock of geese was a flock of geese whether you were a Hellhound or not).  


‘Where’s the angel?’ the boy asked, whatever had been on his mind suddenly erased like chalk on a blackboard before you could get to copy down all your notes. _Well, that’s eleven-years-old for you_.  


‘Oh, he’s wandered off with book girl, fawning over that whole prophecy nonsense. I expect he’ll be back at some point or other.’  


He seemed in no hurry whatsoever. Adam commented on it.  


‘So you’re just waiting for him?’  


‘Mhm.’  


‘However long it takes?’  


Crowley choked. He had no idea on what exactly he was choking on but he was coughing desperately like he actually needed to breathe to begin with.  


Adam seemed unfazed by the whole thing continuing to toy with Dog’s leash like it was the most important thing in the world right now. Probably he meant that Crowley would get bored at some point, guarding a fence on his own by night. But Crowley didn’t see it like that. Not at all. _Oh, for fuck’s sake_, he was projecting thousands of years of repressed feelings onto an innocent inquiry made by a child. _Pathetic_.  


‘Yeah, well, I’ve no place else to be at the moment. Not that it matters much anyway. Both Upstairs and Downstairs will be onto us as soon as they sort things out. Doesn’t matter much if I’m sipping champagne in Paris or keeping a fence company in rural Oxfordshire.’  


‘I don’t think I’d like something bad to happen to you. Or the angel. You’re good people. Bad things shouldn’t happen to good people.’  


He fought the urge to point out yet again that he was a demon and therefore not by definition particularly good. Apparently Adam had already made up his mind about that so there was no changing it.  


He also fought the urge to point out that bad things happened to good people _all the time_ thanks to all that ineffability. But they had just convinced him that the world was good enough to deserve saving. Pointing out how shitty it was at the same time would be a bit counterproductive.  


‘Mmmyes, can’t say I’m much in favour of spending eternity in a bottomless pit, but what can you do, eh?’  


‘I think you’ll think of something,’ Adam declared with conviction. ‘Your friend seems very smart. You’ll both come up with a plan. And then you’ll show those other two. I didn’t like them very much. Neither of them was particularly nice. Especially not the tall one.’  


Crowley chuckled at that, head leaned to his right just in time to see Aziraphale draw near in that fussy, over-the-top way of his that was utterly infuriating and completely adorable at the same time. He was carrying a cardboard box.  


‘Oh yes, foul old prick, the tall one, that’s for sure.’  


He could see the look of disapproval on the angel’s face and couldn’t suppress a smirk.  


‘That’s not very nice, my dear,’ the angel protested but it was more for show than anything else.  


He sat down primly on a wooden bench that was at the same time fifty years old and a couple of seconds new.  


‘M’not supposed to be nice, as I think I’ve mentioned a million times by now. Especially not about _ fucking _ Gabriel. Even the kid agrees. Good on you, kid. _Very_ good taste,’ he said as he fist bumped Adam to Adam’s visible glee.  


‘I’m gonna go now,’ he got up from the fence and turned towards the bench.  


‘It was nice meeting you mister Az…mister Fell,’ he used the title that the angel had used to introduce himself to Arthur Young while trying to clear up the whole mess. ‘Not necessarily the part when you wanted to shoot me, but you know, after that.’  


Aziraphale had the common decency to look guilty and clear his throat while inspecting the cobbles.  


Adam took a piece of paper from his jacket and presented it to Crowley.  


‘It’s our phone number. If you want to talk or you know…stuff,’ he finished rather lamely, suddenly very nervous and shifty.  


_Oh, the poor poor kid_. A being of immense power with no one whatsoever to talk to about what he was going through. _Sure, he had his gang, but they were normal human children, not supernatural entities_.  


‘Sod that,’ Crowley crumpled the paper and threw it away to Adam’s obvious distress and Aziraphale’s profound disappointment.  


Crowley raised a hand to instruct them to wait, pulled his smartphone from his pocket, fiddled with it for a minute or so, and then threw said smartphone in the general direction of Adam.  


‘Catch,’ he warned rather last minute.  


Adam stumbled a bit but he did.  


‘Wouldn’t want naggy adults listening in on everything, now would we?’ _Especially if the talk swirled around things like angels, demons, Heaven and Hell and the failed Apocalypse_. ‘You’ve got my landline and Aziraphale’s number as well. I’ll buy another one when we get back and I’ll give you that number too. Easier for texting, that.’  


Adam’s grin went from ear to ear and, if it wasn’t for them being supernatural entities, they could swear they were imagining the small halo of bright light dancing around his curls.  


‘That’s very kind. Thank you!’  


Crowley’s lip curled up and he hissed. _Not this again_. But his hiss quickly turned into a not particularly intelligent ‘_wha-_’ as the Adversary, Destroyer of kings, Angel of the bottomless pit, Prince of this World and Lord of Darkness wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. It wasn’t a particularly long hug. Prepubescent boys didn’t do that sort of thing much but it was long enough to have Crowley quite rattled. He could not remember when was the last time someone had hugged him.  


‘It’s gotten dark. I really have to go now. See you around,’ Adam said in quick succession and whistled for Dog, taking off at a light sprint.  


Crowley took some moments to process the whole thing and by the time he turned to Aziraphale the angel was all but brimming with pride.  


‘Oh, stop that!’  


He disentangled himself from the fence he was perched up on and he sprawled his limbs on the newly miracled bench, a cardboard box away from the angel. He miracled a bottle of wine for good measure. If this wasn’t the time to get absolutely sloshed then he didn’t know when that particular time was.  


‘Very considerate of you to give him a present like that.’  


‘I ssaid ssssstop it. It’ss not consssssiderate. It’s downright demonic. He’ll keep it a secret from his parents and when they find out he’ll have to lie and they’d get angry and punish him. Chars a little bit out of all the souls involved. Very demonic, that,’ he congratulated himself with a smirk and passed the bottle over.  


Aziraphale didn’t seem convinced but he took the bottle anyway.


	2. A Bus-ride name Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is a mess. Aziraphale is also a mess but we don't get to see his side of things until later on. They are both being very stupid. As per canon.

**Saturday. Three hours and thirty minutes after the end of the world.  
Bus heading to <strike>Oxford </strike> London. Interior. **

It had been quite easy convincing Aziraphale to come back to his. Remarkably so. Who knew all it would take to tempt the angel into his den of inequity would be the near end of the world? Had he known sooner he would have asked the Morningstar himself to be a dear and put his offspring on Earth ages ago. _Please and thank you, darling_. He snorted.  


That made Aziraphale stop fidgeting and twirling his fingers in his lap if only for a moment and look at him.  


‘Ill timed joke,’ Crowley said casually, throwing his head back and following the streetlights with an unfocused gaze.  


Aziraphale turned back to fidgeting.  


Was it such a momentous occasion to have the angel back at his though? _I mean, what do you think will happen all of a sudden?_ Soliloquies and tearful love confessions? Long kisses and hand holding and getting lost in each others’ eyes? Being pushed about into walls and onto his desk and deep into the feather bed as his glorious Aziraphale stood naked on top of him, beautiful and radiant, wings spread out like a proper angel of the Lord? _Oh, what a vision of ecstasy that would be._  


He felt the heat rush to his face and tried to steer his thoughts away from That. _That_ was something that happened in the dark hours of the night, somewhere before dawn, when he was alone and free to take matters into his own hands, so to speak. Not something his mind should dwell on with Aziraphale right next to him, thigh plastered against his own, sides touching and elbows rubbing on the too crowded public transportation seats. _What had even gotten into the angel to sit next to him? _ He never sat next to him. Always in front or behind. Mostly the former rather than the latter as if to prove who was the better one out of the two. _Smug bastard_.  


Why was he even thinking about this? What would that accomplish were the armies of Heaven and Hell to descend upon his doorstep come morning?_ It’s been a shit 6000 years. Painful and lonely and spent wondering when the other shoe was going to drop, but at least, hey, you got one good fuck before they kill you both._ Lah dee dah. _What’s 6000 years of wanting the unattainable against a good honest shag?_  


No, they had to think of a plan, not silly lovey-dovey (_with the proper R rating just for good measure_) nonsense. Judging by how tense Aziraphale was he was probably doing exactly that, not like his counterpart and stupid excuse for a friend who instead filled his own head with dumb what-ifs that would never come to pass. He took another swig from the bottle of wine that had the decency to refill itself at least three times before they reached London proper and was about to refill itself a fourth time if it knew what was best for it.  


The driver had raised an eyebrow at the bottle when they had boarded the bus but, after a look at Crowley’s countenance, realised he had other things to worry about and kept his mouth firmly shut.  


He had angled the bottle slightly towards Aziraphale the first couple of times but the angel was too nervous to pay any notice so, he shrugged and downed the contents as if it was a flask of water and he had spent the last week in the desert.  


What was the angel so nervous about? The powers of Heaven and Hell combined?_ Well, there was that, of course_. But, somehow, he had the distinct feeling it was more than that. _Was it something he had done? Was it because he had forced Aziraphale’s hand to spend the night over_? Then surely he will keep mum about it. He wanted nothing of the ‘_you go too fast for me, Crowley_’ nonsense ever again and especially none of the complete silence for ten years that followed that very low moment in Crowley’s life. Certainly not now when, if the angel would decline his advances and decide to take off into the sunset, he would have no way of protecting him from Heaven’s wrath.  


How would he even go about doing it, anyway? He’d had 6000 years to come up with something and still, he fell short. Well, not 6000, not for that particular declaration at least. More like 1500, but that was still more than enough.  


Sure, he had taken a liking to the bugger as soon as he laid eyes on him, right there on the wall of Eden. _Damn stupid bugger, giving his flaming sword away like that, disobeying a direct order from God herself, consequences be damned._ He continued to be fascinated with him throughout the next couple of millennia.  


His crisis of faith and the way he tried to get his mind around to explain the utter massacre of the first flood.  


His work back in Egypt back when that whole plague of locusts business with Moses occurred. Sure, the Egyptians were being dicks, but to force them all to starvation like that, well, _that was low_. So, the silly fucker performed countless miracles to help keep them fed. Even got a strongly worded note for that, he confided in the demon later. Crowley had done his part as well, making sure that most of the houses bore a red stripe of blood on their door, Jewish or not. The whole chosen people thing he understood, but killing children was not something he had any intention of putting up with.  


The silent horror of the angel when they crucified Christ.  


Those were all things that made Crowley like him, that made him different and wonderful and very dear to his demonly heart. There was even that laughable moment in Rome when the smug bastard had tried to tempt him with oysters. That had been hilarious. That had also been the moment he admitted to himself he was rather fond of his natural sworn enemy.  


The moment he actually realised he was in love however, had been in Alexandria. _Go up there and spread some dissent. What dissent was he to spread when those fanatics did it all by themselves?_ For his part he tried to prolong the peace as long as humanly, well, demonly, possible. He failed, of course, and was given a commendation for the outstanding work. _What exactly was outstanding in burning down innumerable works of philosophy and poetry and science_, he could not phantom to understand. And he didn’t even read books. _Not after the fire, anyway_. He would never again get attached to something that people could get rid of, just like that.  


He could have sworn he’d seen the angel up and about and, with the utter nightmare the city was becoming by the minute, he reached out with his demonic powers and searched the angel out. He was quite shocked to realise that not only had the angel not fled the city but was rather staying very obstinately put. _Oh, that stupid bugger_.  


He set out to find him through masses of people shrieking and milling about and acting as stupid as you would expect masses of people to act in the face of general panic.  


He was a pagan. _Well_, he wasn’t a pagan _per say_\- but what use was it to portray a certain belief when you knew without a shadow of a doubt that that belief rang true. _Oh, and he also thought the Christians here were a bit shit, the lot of them_. He posed as a pagan in a society very much opposed to that. He had done it for the sheer fun of it. Also, as a personal affront to the Almighty. _Big middle finger, that_. But people, even good old-fashioned Christian fanatics gave him a wide berth. One look at him and a very nasty shiver went down their spine. Aziraphale, of course, played the devout Christian card. So, when the demon finally found him amongst the fire and the ashes trying to get as many scrolls as he could out of the Serapeum, Crowley nearly swore. _Those stupid fucks will get him discorporated, for sure. _  


The angel’s clothes were charred. His step was uneven, as he was limping slightly with his right leg. His usual fluffy white hair was matted on his forehead and dark with ash. At some point he fell to his knees right before the demon’s eyes and started sobbing.  


With a snap of his fingers every scroll that had not yet been engulfed by flames took the very wise decision to start existing in a small inn’s room on the other side of town. He would make sure they all ended in various libraries across Europe. So as not to raise suspicions about why a lowly pagan man had in his possession hundreds of priceless scrolls. But that was for later. Now he tried his best to get to the blasted angel until the ceiling fell in on them.  


‘Aziraphale! What in the Heavens are you doing?’ he yelled over the cackle of the fire, by now being only a few feet away.  


The angel lifted his eyes to meet his, blue and open and raw and full of sadness and that was the minute Crowley realised he would never ever again let something happen that would make his angel cry.  


_Oh, by Satan’s balls, this was bad. This was very very bad. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._ His mind was screaming at him. His first instinct was to bolt immediately and spend the better half of all eternity on the other side of the world. However, when he heard the creak in the beams above them, he followed his _second_ instinct instead.  


His second instinct was to dart towards Aziraphale and cover him up with his body. He would let nothing happen to the angel. _Not now. Not ever_. So he wasn’t the least bit surprised when dark wings manifested themselves from a secret pocket dimension and rose high above their heads, protecting them from the falling rubble. At some point one of them broke. He was certain about that, judging by the pain, at least. But it was worth it, to be able to look his angel in the eye, arms wrapped around him, faces inches apart. The pain flared and ebbed but it was all sent graciously to the back of his mind.  


It took all the energy he had left to miracle them both across town, on the rooftop of a previously mentioned inn.  


He was too concentrated on the well being of the angel in his arms to notice a man staring at them from the opposite side of the street. So, when said man was stoned for heresy and spreading false words about divinity, not even a whole week after, Crowley had no knowledge of the fact. Tales of wings as black as night and ethereal halos escaped the demon even if they were all the city was gossiping about. If he had known, he would have tried to put a stop to it. He would have bargained with the powers that be about having supernatural beings placed upon this earth if the humans were not allowed to perceive them. Unfortunately, he didn’t realise. He didn’t know, his mind fixated on that sobbing mess that the angel before him had been. He would protect said angel for all the days to come. And, if that would be the end of him, so be it.  


He felt a hand gripping his shoulder and he all but jumped in his seat from the painful memory.  


‘My dear,’ he heard on a too soft a tone. ‘I think this is our stop.’  


His pupils widened in that snake-like fashion they were prone to do. Of course, no one would see that, not even the angel, his eyes hid behind the sunglasses, but he still felt it nonetheless. He hated it. He knew of this weakness of his so he praised whoever was smart enough to invent sunglasses in the first place. It was probably himself.  


‘Mmmquite,’ he pointed for the angel to get up so he could follow.  


_Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love._  


He felt it seep into his mind like sweet treacle. _Shakespeare? Really? Now of all times. What the fuck was wrong with him?_  


Shakespeare’s always been Aziraphale’s go to guy in terms of romance and Crowley quite fancied the guy himself. But never the sad ones. The sad ones always reminded him of where all this was going to go. _Of them. Of star-crossed lovers_ – although they were never that, but fault a demon for hoping. They always reminded him that whatever the two of them had would end badly. As it was the case right now. So why was his mind quoting Hamlet at him, bloody Hamlet, the saddest of the bunch – he had absolutely no idea.  


Maybe because, he supposed, now more than ever it will actually be sad. Not just a figment of his imagination anymore. But reality. He will be parted with the angel come morrow. He was tired. Not tired. Exhausted.  


_Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best – Oh, just stop it with the bard already! We’ve talked about this. We’ll keep mum_, he chastised himself.  


They reached the entrance of his apartment building and he felt a knot in his throat. Nothing felt more wrong than bringing Aziraphale here. _Lovely, wondrous, sweet Aziraphale_. And in such a sterile and cold environment. He felt guilty and lustful and covetous.  


_And for they looked but with divining eyes, they had not skill enough you’re worth to sing._  


_Goddamn you, Shakespeare!_  


He never wanted Aziraphale to come back to his._ He did, of course he did_. He wanted it very much albeit for a different reason altogether. He hated having to lay his soul bare like that. There was the matter with the plants. That he could easily manage. There was of course the matter with the statues as well. The first one would be easily explainable. Evil triumphs over good. Although it looked nothing like that. But Aziraphale was enough of a prude to leave it be. The second statue though, that was a bit tricky. It was stolen from the church where Crowley saved him from the Nazis. That would get a raised eyebrow at least.  


_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ He didn’t want to explain things to Aziraphale. Not now. Not before he knew they would be - could be - safe.  


So, as soon as they passed the threshold, he threw a blanket in the angel’s general direction and bid him goodnight, retreating to his bedroom.  


He knew Aziraphale didn’t sleep. Maybe he would busy himself with a book and be content. He, for himself, never wanted to leave this little bubble of safety, domesticity even. He would go to sleep and Aziraphale would be in the next room, pouring all of his attention in a tome. Did he have books? He had some books. And Aziraphle could always miracle whatever suited him best. He was expecting a very deep, very refreshing sleep, judging by what he’s been through the last week. But sleep seemed to avoid him as he tossed and turned.  


At two o’clock in the morning he got out of bed and headed to the study. He found Aziraphale sitting at his obnoxiously _out-there_ desk. He had received it as a present from the Medicis themselves so he was not going to repent about the so very _very_ extra look it cast upon him. Aziraphale was sat in the tall, uncomfortable chair that looked like a throne, book in front of him and blanket over his shoulders. Not that he would ever get cold in the middle of the summer sporting a three-piece suit. _But he was all about esthetics, wasn’t he, the sly bastard._  


The bastard in question threw him a worried look and closed the book in front of him. It was the bard. _Ooooof course it was_. An old, dog ended and very worn book of sonnets. Not signed by Shakespeare himself, of course, as it was published much, much later. But it might as well have been, seeing as there was an envelope at the end of the book with parchments filled with sonnets addressed directly to Crowley. Well, not addressed, dedicated.  


‘Lisssten, I ‘ave to tell you sssomething,’ he said, voice already caught in his throat.  


‘And I you, dear boy,’ Aziraphale sat up from the desk, put the book down and carefully folded the blanket.  


He hadn’t even had the decency to miracle his angel a bloody couch. He had to spend the whole night on that damn uncomfortable excuse of a chair.  


He waved his hand at Aziraphale to go first, not trusting himself to say anything anymore. It was only because he forgot to sober up before climbing into bed and was still rather drunk that he even brought it up in the first place. _Stupid cunt._  


‘I’ve figured it out. The prophecy, I mean.’  


‘Well, go on then.’  


‘You won’t like it very much.’  


Crowley shrugged as if to indicate that the universe couldn’t give less of a shit about what one Anthony J. Crowley, fallen angel and failed demon liked or didn’t like.  


Aziraphale bit his lip and went on.  


He was indeed right about that. He didn’t like it very much. He didn’t like it _at all_.  


‘Nah, we ain’t doing that,’ he slurred as he shifted on unsteady feet. It was the first time Aziraphale realised how sloshed he was.  


‘We are not having this conversation while you're drunk. You can’t just decide stuff like that that willy-nilly. I need you sober for this. Please, dear boy,’ he added as he saw the doubt on Crowley’s face.  


The demon groaned and then sobered up. He could never deny the angel anything. And then he groaned some more as the acidic taste of soberness filled his mouth. He miracled himself a glass of brandy and drained it in one gulp under Aziraphale’s very judgemental look.  


‘M’sober now. For the moment, at least,’ he miracled himself another glass. ‘And we are _absolutely_ not doing that. Doesn’t matter if I’m sober or blackout drunk. I don’t even want to think about it.’  


‘Crowley, it’s the only way. Agnes was never wrong about any of the other prophecies so surely-’  


‘You are not setting a foot in that place, angel! I’ll fight the whole Heavenly Host and all the Legions of the Damned only to stop that.’  


‘You’re overreacting, dear. How bad can it be? You’ve survived sixty centuries in that place.’  


‘Angel, we are talking about _literal_ Hell, you _are _aware?’  


‘Yes, quite,’ he waved his hands dismissively. ‘Don’t think for a moment that I don’t fret thinking about you going up there. What if there’s Holy Water laying about? Or Heavenly Fire? What if the grace of Heaven burns you simply by being there? There’s been talk of plenty of angels going to Hell. Never a demon ascending back to Heaven though.’  


‘_Fallen_ angels.’  


‘Yes, well.’  


Aziraphale made it sound like it didn’t count. Like Falling was a random pastime for a Tuesday afternoon when you got bored.  


‘Do you have any other idea?’ This time he didn’t ask it with the smug sarcasm of a middle school librarian, but with actual honest curiosity.  


‘No. Nada. Zilch. Nothing.’  


Perchance, if his mind hadn’t been preoccupied with love sonnets and digging up stuff from the ditches of memory lane, he might have come up with something. _Nah_, although chastising himself had always been something of a hobby turned art-form by Crowley’s self-deprecating mind, he knew he couldn’t come up with anything better than what Aziraphale came up with. He was the smart one. He just had to trust the angel with this as well.  


‘Aiight, how do we do this? Never been inside an angel before.’  


Aziraphale cleared his throat in the most Victorian-era-schoolgirl fashion he could manage.  


‘Oh, don’t be like that! You know what I mean,’ he hissed but couldn’t help his face burn up and his ears turn red. _Phrasing, Crowley, really?_  


‘We should get on with it,’ Aziraphale stepped closer and extended his hand, palm up.  


Crowley looked at it dubiously before placing his hand onto the angel’s, ever so lightly. A shiver went down his spine. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He could feel Aziraphale’s essence dancing at the seams of his own, pushing when he pulled, swirling around him, all-encompassing and bright and a little too much but at the same time not enough and for a mere second that lasted for all of eternity their essences were entwined and it felt nothing short of divine. Then, as soon as it came, it was over, replaced by utter emptiness for the briefest of moments. And then his heart exploded. _Love. He was feeling love_. And not the dirty, possessive, lustful, needy love he felt for the angel. Pure, unadulterated love for everything around him. For the old bookshop, for brunches in street corner cafes, for strolls on the banks of the Seine, for art, for literature, for music, for all of history itself, for the entire world and everyone in it, including a sorry excuse for a demon.  


_Did....Was this how Aziraphale felt everyday?_ If he could feel all of this just by inhabiting his body what would the angel feel inside his very own body? Guilt and anger and foul bile and lust. _So so much lust._  


He gasped as his eyes shot open and took the image of himself in. Well, not himself, but the angel wearing his face. It made his skin crawl thinking what Aziraphale was experiencing right now. He couldn’t bear it. Not a minute longer, as his own eyes watched him curiously with a warm kindness that he had never known his eyes to possess…  


‘I…can’t….I…ngk…I can’t do this,’ he said, a hand covering his mouth like he was about to retch and dashed through the door and into the hallway and down the stairs and into the night, not knowing where he was going.  


He walked for what felt like hours with no purpose or direction in mind.  


It was only as dawn broke that he realised he had given his mobile phone away so Aziraphale had no possible way of reaching him. _Oh, he must be worried sick. You stupid,_ stupid _bugger._  


He found his way to a payphone that by some miracle managed to convince itself it needed no coin to make a call to an apartment in Mayfair.  


It rang once.  


‘I’ll have you know that was some very reprehensible behaviour.’  


Crowley bit his lip.  


‘You know it could have been Hell calling, right?’ he said instead of saying what he really wanted to say. Which was: _I’m so so so so sorry._  


‘And the same would apply to them, my d…. _No_, you are not deserving of a ‘my dear’ right now. I am _very _cross with you running out like that! I was really worried! And with no way to reach you as well…’ he paused to draw in a deep breath. Crowley couldn’t sense any hate or disgust coming from the angel so maybe he didn’t get to experience all those base urges after all. He sighed in relief.  


‘And a bit hurt, too. I mean, I admit I’m not the prettiest sight there is but that look on your face was a bit much.’  


‘Mmmyou _what_? No no _no_, angel. It’s not like that!’  


_God, was he really that daft? It could never be like that_. He was the prettiest sight in all creation, _the silly fucker_ and he was completely oblivious about that.  


‘It’s you know…. all of the… the way you feel about things, does strange things to a demon, that,’ Crowley only partly lied.  


‘Oh dear! _Oh_, I’ve never even thought about that, _oh no_…how daft of me to presume…No matter. Are you alright now? Shall I come fetch you?’  


‘M’aight. Better not. I’ll stop by the bookshop. Check what’s left of it.’  


Aziraphale gave a sad hum of acknowledgement. Better Crowley than him. He would downright lose it.  


‘Let’s meet at St. James’. Better to get on with it, however it goes.’  


'Aiight. And angel, if they get to you before we meet, I just wanted to tell you that – ‘  


‘Yes?’ his own voice came up a bit breathy from the receiver.  


_No. Better not. _What if something happened? What if he finally heard those three words he’d longed to hear for half of eternity from his angel and then something happened? What if he lost him forever? _ What was that daft saying?_ Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all._ What a load of bollocks._  


‘Never mind. See you at St. James’’  


A sigh and then:  


‘Yes, dear. The usual spot. 10 o’clock.’  


He glanced around for the first time trying to make sense of where his dazed excursion had led him. It was Whitechapel. He groaned and picked up his pace as he wanted to reach the meeting place in time. He had no intention of getting on a bus as it would be a stark remainder of Aziraphale’s side glued to his and that felt like it would sully the whole memory. _Him being alone for this trip and all_.  


Not particularly keen on going by the tube either, going down in the bowels of the earth being something he very much planned to postpone as much as possible. On foot it was then. By the time he reached St. Paul’s he was slightly out of breath. He realised he didn’t even need to breathe in the first place so he stopped completely as he marched on, getting quite a few shocked stares as the streets began to fill with people going to work.  


By the time he reached King’s College he was positively flushed but with yet another snap of his fingers that was gone as well.  


Bits and pieces of conversations washed over him as he ambled on. People were chatting animatedly about the M25 being on fire as being a figment of a mass hallucination. The city of Atlantis was yet again a myth. The nuclear power-plant going back to running on whatever power-plants ran on instead of children's candy.  


_Well, on all that nuclear whatsit, ain’t it, Billy?_  


_How the heavens should I know, woman? I’m a florist, not one of them science people._  


He passed through all of this idle gossip and the more he kept going the more he realised the world was righting itself. Or rather, Adam was making sure that was the case. And the more he realised that, the more he hoped against hope that the bookshop would be there, whole and untouched by the fire. He was in Soho proper by now and as this street gave way to the next and the next, he only had to turn around the corner and then…there he was. In front of the bookshop.  


It stood before him safe and untarnished like the end of the world wasn’t a thing that happened. Well, he supposed, it hadn’t really.  


He stood in awe in the middle of the road staring at the slightly chipped sign of A.Z.Fell & Co. for several minutes, only being awakened from his daze by a rather loud honk and a very lengthy tirade off swearwords. The first thing that came to mind was to tell the bloody fucker to sod off, accompanied by a very rude hand gesture. But they could be watched. And Aziraphale would never behave like that. So he got his act together and entered the shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest and most angst-filled chapter I've written in this whirlwind of a fic and, although I know how things go, and how people only comment on the latest chapter, I very much crave comments on this one in particular.


	3. Don't lick the Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell isn't a merry-go-round. Neither is dinner at the Ritz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is centered around Crowley being a melodramatic bitch but I just couldn't help myself from referencing at least one of those motivational posters that not even the best of 'my passion is graphic design' memes could do justice to.

**Sunday. Twenty-two hours after the end of the world.  
Ritz. Interior.**

_To the world_, he had toasted earlier but his heart wasn't really in it. No earthly delight would have been the same without the angel to keep him company. No amount of Chateau Laffites or speedy drives around the countryside or afternoon teas at the Ritz would make up for the angel being gone. Crowley wouldn't care anymore.  


Aziraphale was talking quite animatedly about his brief experience in Hell. Crowley wasn’t paying particular attention - not that whatever Aziraphale was saying at any point was uninteresting - quite the contrary. He would never get enough of the angel chattering away. It was just…the first time back in Heaven in 6000 years turned out to be quite different than what he had in mind. It felt cold and sterile. He started to get why the angel loved to keep such a clutter around him at all times despite Crowley’s weak occasional complains. He wanted to keep at bay that empty, lonely aura that Heaven exuded.  


‘It was rather damp and unpleasant, let me tell you. And the pipes leaked. Why do you even _need_ pipes to begin with? You’re occult entities.’  


He nearly snorted. _Of course it was bloody unpleasant!_ It was _fucking Hell_, not a premium suite at the Savoy.  


The second thing that rubbed him the wrong way was the whole hush-hush business of being sent to his death by a couple of very bad, very single-minded and stubborn angels. As if they quickly wanted to sweep the whole thing under the rug. He could sense evil the same way Aziraphale could sense love. _Part of the job description, really_. And those three bastards were nothing if not evil from head to toes. At least Hell had the common decency to make a show out of it. He didn’t even need Aziraphale to tell him that. He knew Beelzebub’s M.O. It was proper. It was _right_. Not the whole making a show out of sacrificing your mate here. But having the decency to make it public. Not keeping it under wraps like a sneaky sordid affair.  


‘There was a sign that said you shouldn’t lick the walls. Does that happen often? Do your people tend to do that? I mean, is a sign like that even necessary? They weren’t looking particularly appealing. The walls, I mean,’ vaguely rang through Crowley’s ears.  


The third thing that was completely wrong in more ways than he could put into words had his heart knotted together and bursting with rage at the same time. _They hadn’t even given him a trial_. Hell saw fit to throw the demon Crowley a trial. Of course it wasn’t just, or fair. _They were demons after all_. You couldn’t blame them for that. It was in their nature. But the Heavenly Host decided that _no_, one of their own, their _brother_, an angel of the Lord, the _best_ angel should just perish on one of fucking Gabriel’s whims. If he ever saw the bugger again, he would kill him. Not discorporate him, no. Breathe proper hellfire on him and watch him perish with the same bored look of mild annoyance the fucker threw him when he ordered him to go into the flames. He had actually breathed hellfire at them but that was just for show. Just to make sure they were properly terrified. That they would leave them alone. More of a warning, really. There would be no warning next time around.  


‘There was this small demon. He looked like a plump little dragon. Had little wings and everything. They killed him just to make sure the water was holy enough. Crowley, that was awful! He wasn’t even guilty of anything. 'Wrong place, wrong time', Hastur said and threw him in the tub, just like that!’  


Crowley had no idea what Aziraphale was expecting to hear from him. _It was Hell_. It was _supposed_ to be shit. Was the angel trying to find a sliver of goodness in fucking Hell? Why was he so surprised that the place of eternal torture wouldn’t score very good on Yelp? Heaven, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. Heaven was shit as well. _Why in God’s name did he spend all those awful sleepless nights regretting losing Heaven_ was beyond him. _Maybe because he didn’t quite remember it to begin with_. Ever since the Garden he had associated Heaven with Aziraphale. And if one little angel could embody so much love, and beauty and divine grace, then Heaven would be bursting with it and being taken back would soothe his poor damned soul. He now realised that was a load of crap. Aziraphale wasn’t like that because he was part of Heaven. _He was like that because he was being Aziraphale_. And no matter how indifferent and cold and unloving the rest of them were being, no matter how they looked down on him and made it seem wrong for him to love everything so much, he had never given up on it. Never tried to conform. And Crowley’s heart didn’t know how much more he could take. How much more he could fall in love with the angel.  


_But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, and, constant stars, in them I read such art as truth and beauty shall together thrive –_  


_Well fuck me sideways and give me the literary demon of the year award. Throw in a gold star, why don’t you?_  


The place was nearly closing by now. They were the only two patrons left. Crowley didn’t even realise it was nearly 10 o’clock. _When did that happen?_ Though too be fair, the whole concept of time was something a bit hazy at the moment, spending the last eleven years thinking they were running out of it. Spending the last week chasing each and every second. Spending last night thinking they’d be dead by now.  


Aziraphale gestured to one of the servers to bring their check and Crowley paid, like he always did, being met with quite a large amount of angelic fuss. Then they were in the newly restored Bentley and then they were suddenly in front of the bookshop. No miracle involved there. It was just that Crowley was too immersed in his own thoughts to realise he’d actually driven there. Pin it to his near impeccable driving skills or an unwarranted and uncalled for string of angelic miracles, but here they were, in front of the bookshop in one piece. And if this had been any other night, Crowley would have walked with the angel back to the backroom of the shop and enjoy a nice bottle of Chateaux Margaux or six.  


It wasn’t a usual night though. Crowley felt that if he spent only a minute longer there, he would spill all the nasty stuff that had accumulated in his brain in the last four hundred years. That was Shakespeare’s fault as well. He loved the sonnets; he loved the love stories. He came acquainted with them as a means of professing his undying love for Aziraphale. But the playwright wasn’t only portraying romantic, courtly love, _now was he_? He was brash and he was explicit and he wrote of lust and desire and it made Crowley curious about how this all fitted in the whole love business. So he made an Effort for the first time since Ancient Greece. And _boy, oh, boy_, he was in for quite a surprise. He had spent more than a fortnight barricaded in his small rented flat. Missed the premiere of Midsummer Night and got quite a strong chastisement from the angel for standing him up like that. And then was ghosted by Aziraphale for a full month for not being able to come up with an explanation to whatever could have been so important that he couldn’t make the time to see the play together. _That would have been an interesting discussion._  


He felt tired. Drained. He wanted to sleep for a week. Or a year. Or a hundred years. He didn’t know. It had been nice the first time around. Refreshing.  


His angel was fidgeting again. _His angel_, he mentally swore at himself. He was never his to begin with. He would never be his. Such a divine presence, whatever was good and proper in the world would never want him. Not like that. Not like anything. He was a demon. He was cursed. And he had nothing whatsoever to give Aziraphale. Nothing that would redeem him. He had only covetous, base desires. He imagined the angel under him, singing him praises. He imagined the angel lingering just above him, chanting his name as if in prayer. And he felt so guilty and so dirty whenever he thought about that.  


He wanted him with all his might, but the angel was not his to have. He had nearly spilled everything out twice now in the last 24 hours. If he stayed any longer, he was sure he couldn’t stop a third time. _No, he mustn’t lose the angel when he just got him back._ He would never sully their relationship like that. _Relationship? Really?_  


Aziraphale was sitting not even a foot away from him in the cramped Bentley and he was certainly expecting something, judging by the look on his face. He was most definitely not expecting _that_, Crowley told himself as he gathered his wits about him and let out a loud sigh.  


‘See you around, angel,’ he managed to say without his breath catching.  


He very pointedly didn’t look at Aziraphale as he gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles were now white. All he wanted to do was turn around and kiss him breathless for the oncoming decade. What he did instead was stare straight ahead and mumble his goodbye. He did manage to steal a glimpse of said angel. He looked positively hurt. And he never wanted his angel to be hurt. There it was again._ His. He was never his_.  


He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples all the while Aziraphale got out of the car. He chanced another look sideways as the angel made his way back to the bookshop. He looked very _very_ glum. He didn’t want that. He wanted to be there and to soothe him. He wanted to gather him up in his arms and invoke all the love-crazed confessions that still bubbled underneath the surface. He didn’t do that. He drove home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later edit: I just realised that I sort of foreshadowed the 'love confessions' business with the 'but from thine eyes' bit :D


	4. Yelling at plants could be therapeutic, but not today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam is being a sweetheart because, of course he is. Crowley is having a hard time saying no to sweethearts in general, and Adam in particular because, deep down in his demonly heart, he's also a sweetheart. You can pry the headcanon of Crowley being a soft boi from my cold, dead hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid I'll run out of posting material much sooner than I hoped I would since I can't help myself from posting two chapters a day, like a goddamned pleb

**Sunday. One day after the end of the world. 11pm.  
Mayfair. Interior.**

Crowley was walking aimlessly around, plant mister in hand, although he was in no particular mood to scream at the plants right now. _Oh, he wanted to scream, alright_. But, although he was a firm believer in the concept of tough love, he wasn’t particularly fond of being cruel just for cruelty’s sake. _What a pitiful excuse for a demon he was_.  


At some point he had orbited towards the study and started staring quite pointedly at where the mess that was formerly known as Ligur had been. _Huh, Aziraphale must have cleaned it up last night_.  


He let his thoughts wander to the angel yet again so he miracled himself a glass of brandy. He downed it, thought better about it, and summoned the whole bottle. Cork between his teeth, his gaze shifted to the book of sonnets when the phone started ringing.  


_Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate,_  
_Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:_  
_O, but with mine compare thou thine own state,_  
_And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;_  
_Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,_  
_That have profaned their scarlet ornaments_  
_And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine,_  
_Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents._  
_Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest those_  
_Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:_  
_Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows_  
_Thy pity may deserve to pitied be._  
_If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,_  
_By self-example mayst thou be denied!_  
  


_Oh, that had been a stinger_. And dedicated to him directly. From the own bard’s hand. He could have pointed out, at the time, it was not others’ beds that robbed him of his affections but the powers of both Heaven and Hell combined. But people often try to wrap their minds around things they do not understand and come up with the explanations that best suit them. And Crowley had spent many a drunken night at The George Tavern wallowing in self pity and laying his soul bare, so much so, that good old Bill had a field day. He had commented about it when a rather familiar line that left his mouth not even a month before was now uttered by a severely miscast Romeo for all the world to hear. Shakespeare had said something about poetic license and that had been that. When had that been? 1595. _Quite an interesting year, that_, soul-searching-wise. Not that it ever stopped him from joining the playwright to this watering hole or the next, being a quite proficient muse. He was especially smug about his add-on to the Tempest. Aziraphale had thrown a hissy fit at that.  


He let the phone ring. There could only be one person calling him at this hour so he let his answering machine take care of it.  


‘Hello, Crowley. It’s Adam. I know it’s a bit late but we’ve had guests over and I had to sit all the way through dinner and I guess you’re probably asleep already but I -’  


Crowley snorted. _This was the earliest he’s ever gotten back to his flat after an evening out with the angel, but 11pm would seem late for an eleven-year-old, wouldn’t it?_  


‘Hey, kid,’ he said as he picked up the phone. ‘Sorry I didn’t get to you on the first try. It thought it was…someone else.’  


He could hear Adam frown from across the metaphorical telephone line.  


‘I wanted to see if you’re okay.’  


_Okay_ was something Crowley was not at the moment or ever going to be in the foreseeable future if he carried on like that. It was also not the state of his immortal heart that Adam was inquiring about.  


‘M more than alright, kid. I’m absolutely _tickety-boo_.’ He doused that with a heavy dose of sarcasm although, for who’s sake, was something that escaped him at the moment.  


‘What? Who talks like that?’ Adam didn’t submit to the whole respect and never question your elders’ school of thought.  


‘Who indeed,’ Crowley chuckled into the antiquated phone. He would would have never bought such a thing, but it had been a gift from Aziraphale back when it had been at the height of fashion (to be read as ten years too late).  


‘Well. I just wanted to check in. Though, I told you it’s gonna be alright.’  


_He had, hadn’t he?_ And Crowley didn’t much believe him at the time. He had to correct that in the future. Having an all-knowing, all-powerful kid as an acquaintance might prove very helpful indeed.  


‘Yeah, suppose it turned out alright. Don’t know how much it’s gonna last, but that’s something to worry about another time.’  


‘How’s mister Fell?’ Adam inquired more out of politeness’ sake, not yet getting over the fact that the angel had intended to actually shoot him. At Crowley’s request, _mind you_, but he rather liked Crowley so he let that pass, in the moral gray area that was an eleven-year-old’s mind.  


‘Fine and dandy. Probably fussing over some torn book covers or whatever it is he’s doing back at his.’  


Adam took a moment to analyse this new information. Something didn’t click. _What did he mean back at his?_ He hadn’t bothered to check Aziraphale’s phone number but he had assumed it would be a mobile. He was checking now. It was a landline. _Bold of you to assume_, is what would have crossed his mind were he an adult. He wasn’t, so it didn’t.  


He could feel Crowley was feeling…what? Hurt, upset, lonely? He hadn’t bothered much with how adults were feeling as a rule of thumb but that had changed when he had met Anathema. She had been sad about her book and he didn’t like her being sad, as much as he didn’t like Crowley being lonely. He had been lonely when his parents decided they’d all take a trip to Scotland the past summer and he hadn’t seen Pepper and Brian and Wensleydale in over two weeks. That had been awful.  


‘You should come over the day after tomorrow,’ he ventured cheerfully.  


‘I what?’  


‘Come over. We’ll go for ice-cream. Or go apple picking.’  


Crowley couldn’t help but smirk at that.  


‘I’m sure my parents will forget about the whole thing by then so we can do whatever we like.’  


‘I’m sure they will,’ Crowley replied fondly. _Devious little shit_.  


‘There’s a bus to London, I think. You could take that.’  


There wasn’t. There was a bus to Oxford that at one point or other in the last couple of days had taken an unintentional detour to London.  


‘No need. I’ll drive. Quite fond of driving, me. I suppose I should say thank you for that.’  


‘Oh?’  


‘My car. It’s as good as new. I know it was all your demonic work putting everything back to normal.’  


‘We can drive around then! There’s this nice ravine where the woods end but it’s a bit far to reach by bike. What car do you have? Is it one of those sports cars that can go 200 miles per hour?’  


‘It’s a 1926 Bentley.’  


‘_Oh_,’ he could hear the disappointment in his voice, reverence towards historical cars completely lost on the boy.  


‘It can go 200 miles per hour, though. It can go as fast as I want it to go.’  


‘Oh! That’s alright then!’ his voice was back to being chipper again. ‘I have to go. Mum’s gonna come say goodnight. See you on Tuesday.’  


Crowley was staring quite bemusedly at the phone in his hand, trying, and failing, to put together just how exactly he’d agreed to spend the day with a bunch of kids.  


Sure, there were worse ways to spend his Tuesday, one of which would be wallowing around in his own pity which had been the plan up until five minutes ago.  


_Well then_. He gulped down the remainder of the brandy (i.e. the whole bottle) and miracled and old shabby-looking couch that looked suspiciously like a certain worn-down couch in the backroom of a certain bookshop.  


Then he plummeted face first into the cushions, not even bothering to change his clothes, and fell asleep as soon as he landed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line I'm referencing from The Tempest is “Hell is empty, And all the devils are here."  
Seems like a very Crowley-thing to say. Also, it would have the desired effect of getting Aziraphale's knickers in a twist.


	5. Quite a normal Monday afternoon after the Apocalypse that Wasn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Them being the Them quite gratuitously

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter. Also, very devoid of angst. We are talking about eleven-years-old in their natural habitat. Were they to be fourteen-years-old, then it would be a whole other thing altogether. If you want more gay pining - tune in for the next chapter.

**Monday. 2 days after the end of the world. 3pm.  
Tadfield. Exterior.**

Adam sat on a trunk. Dog was running about, putting the fear of God, or Satan, into all small woodland critters. Cats had been a no. Geese a big _no no_._ Ah_, but _squirrels_…squirrels knew their place well enough to fear the mighty hellhound.  


‘No killing them though, Dog,’ Adam yelled after him. His spirits dampened somewhat.  


‘I’ve made a new friend,’ Adam said. ‘He’s coming over tomorrow.’  


He had been right, of course and his parents had completely forgotten about the fact that he was supposed to be grounded instead of running about in the woods.  


The Them looked suspicious. They had been suspicious of Anathema too, at first, but they came around.  


‘He’s got a car. Said he’ll drive us around.’ _He absolutely hadn’t_, but Adam would make sure he did anyway.  


‘That’s all right then,’ Brian said.  


‘What kind of car? It’s not one of those new obnoxious cars that scream toxic masculinity,’ Pepper couldn’t fight the urge to be Pepper.  


‘Nah, it’s a really old Bentley.’  


‘_Good_.’  


That was as much of a praise as anyone would get from her.  


‘When’s he coming, though? I told ma I’ll go home for lunch,’ Wensleydale quipped in. He hadn't actually talked to his mother about lunch tomorrow. That was really far away in the future. But he wanted to go home and eat, regardless.  


‘Oh, I think just after lunch. Let’s meet by the shop. Then we can get ice-cream,’ Adam provided, helpfully.  


Dog yapped and snarled, as overly excited as any dog of his particular breed could be. _Which was very much so_. He was just a mongrel, but, given his proclivity for evil, he might just as well be a proper Jack Russell. The rats, rabbits and foxes all around gave a general shiver at the thought, neither rats, rabbits nor foxes being that well versed into canine pedigree but feeling on a base-survival-instinct-level that Dog was Someone they should care about. Dog had, at some point or other, thought about bringing quite a wide array of sacrifices to his Master, but his Master had been quite averse to blood sacrifices, even if those sacrifices involved small rodents. Dog wanted to please his Master, so he just played with them. The fact that they fainted, be them small rodents or otherwise, was not actually his problem.


	6. All those 39 different flavors of ice-cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not really, though. Fifteen of them, at best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which an eleven-year-old boy has more sense than a six-thousand-years-old demon. Not about the ice-cream part, though.

**Tuesday. Three days after the end of the world. 1pm.  
Mayfair. Interior. **

It was indeed just after lunch when Crowley got up with a groan. His one day nap had done nothing to ease the headache. He hadn’t sobered up before going to sleep, and a full bottle of brandy was a bit much even for a 6000 years old demon. Especially combined with the three bottles of bubbly they had shared at the Ritz and especially on an empty stomach. He hadn’t bothered eating anything back at the restaurant. He hadn’t bothered eating at all, not in the past week, at least. The knot twisting in his stomach warning him of the impending doom had been a bit much for him to consider pairing it with any sort of nibble. He forgot when he had eaten last time but it was most probably at some point Aziraphale quipped something like _‘oh this is marvellous, my dear, you simply must try it!’_  


He miracled himself sober and a shiver went down his spine as the headache was replaced with the usual tirade of self-deprecating thoughts that had seen fit to lease the better part of his mind without his particular notice or consent.  


There was something he was supposed to do today. What was it? It was on the tip of his tongue. Oh, he said he’d meet the boy. _Now why had he done that?_ No matter. It was either stay in and sulk or take his freshly revived car out for a spin. And he had promised the kid.  


The whole long drive to Tadfield (that Crowley did his best to keep as short as demonly possible) he pondered over this whole ‘spending time with kids’ mess.  


He was vastly fond of children. He didn’t even deny it anymore. Not for the last hundred years, at least. But one thing was saving their sorry arses and quite another was actually spending time with them.  


He remembered the flood. Those have been some very strenuous forty days. Not only did he use more than a hundred demonic miracles to make sure most, if not all, of the children were secure in the hull of the Ark, but he had to spend the entirety of the time making sure they weren’t found out and that they were properly fed. He wanted to sleep for ten years after that. He did, actually, but not before a call from head office inquiring just what the fuck did he think he was doing.  


_‘Well, thwarting the will of the Almighty, obviously_,’ he had lied at the time. ‘_God wanted these people dead for all of their sins, but kids haven’t committed any sins so they would go to Heaven, regardless. If they were in fact grown up though, and become as evil and as wretched as God thinks they would, then surely that would be better for Hell, amirite? Ensuring souls for Satan and all that_.’  


‘_Myeah, I suppose_,’ Dagon didn’t sound at all convinced. Or maybe they were, but the possibility of torturing an unruly demon for a hundred years or so had just been dangled in front of them and then quickly taken away. ‘_But be careful, Crawly, that seemed very close to angelic from down here. We don’t much like angelic_.’  


‘_Nothing of the sort. Not a big fan of angelic, either. And in forty years’ time you’ll have another hundred souls joining the ranks of the damned_.’  


‘_Alright, alright, you’ve made your point. There’s some trouble we want you to stir up in Anatolia. And you’d better hope, for your sake we get each and every one of those souls_.’  


They didn’t in fact get any. Even before they fled from the Ark, the righteous fear of Crowley was put into all of their small minds. And if some of them had a nightmare or two about a giant serpent that would devour their soul forever, well, at least it was just a nightmare and not the real deal for all of eternity. Hell never commented on it again, paperwork being something easily lost or misplaced down there and, most of the time, paperwork being something that happened to other people.  


Then there had been the whole Moses debacle. God really outdid Herself with that. So he did his bit of thwarting when massacring small children was involved.  


And then of course, Spain in 1495. That had been a bit bumpy at first and he had to thank Hell for actually saving anyone. _Imagine that_. They had sent him a commendation for outstanding work. He had been taken aback at first. _What had the fuckers gone and done now?_  


He was in Lisbon at the time. He had spent the better half of the last ten years in Spain. He was partial to the food. And the wine was to die for. But he never paid any mind to what the nobility or monarchy was doing. Favoured this or that cantina. Wondered at the art and architecture and the swirl of cultures and he loved it. Well, apparently Spanish royalty didn’t love it as much as he did.  


He left Portugal and all the novelties they brought from the new world and sauntered over to Alhambra. Expecting something of a petty squabble. _The humans were getting rather good at that_. He didn’t expect what was actually happening, _not by a long shot._  


He spent more than a month cooped up in a dodgy inn, keeping to himself inside his chamber and drinking himself into a stupor. At some point or other Aziraphale caught word of it and, next thing he knew, the angel was standing in his doorway, alight with divine retribution. He probably hadn’t expected Crowley to be this much of a wreck, as his expression changed completely and in four long strides he was by the demon’s side, gathering him in his arms. They stayed like that for a couple of hours and, when finally, Crowley had no more tears to shed, he pulled back, already missing the comfort of the angel’s arms.  


‘_I’m sorry, my dear. So, so sorry. I assumed -_’  


This was interrupted by a peal of bitter laughter.  


‘_Had all the right to assssume. Hell did as well. Outssstanding work, they’ve sssssaid._’  


‘_Yes, well, as per the Arrangement -_’  


‘_Fuck the Arrangement! Who do you even think needs tempting anymore? They’re going to Hell regardless. And for the first time in a long time, I’m glad. They _deserve_ it._’  


‘_What I was actually going to say was…maybe we could…stay? Lend a helping hand? Maybe more blessings from both of us for the time being? And then, of course, I’ll do my fair share of tempting, to even things out._’  


And so they did. Crowley didn’t much care about petty squabbles between Christians and Muslims and Jews. They all believed in the same God. _Be good, don’t be bad and all that nonsense_. Of course at some point one daft bugger or other interpreted the word of the Lord however he saw fit. This was the whole nonsense with don’t eat shrimp or pork all over again. Just because they had an allergy didn’t warrant basing a whole religion on it. _Yet here they were_. Petty squabbles about whichever version of God was better. He really could not be bothered. But when it came to involving children in the mix, well, he was definitely going to do something about that. And this wasn’t even about killing them, it was about destroying their way of life. _What would these children do in a world without their parents or any means of support? Starve? Beg in the streets? No, that simply wouldn’t do._  


So he spent most of the sixteenth century in Spain. Helping out. Hell didn’t pose any problem this time around as he’d told them he was staying to make sure the whole Inquisition thing worked out. He felt like retching at the mere thought but at least that seemed to get them off his back.  


Many a friendly sailor often wondered why he had consented to have his boat filled with Jews or Moors that he, quite willingly, despite not being able to pinpoint exactly how come, took across the Gibraltar.  


Then of course there had been the concentration camps but Crowley had shut those memories away in the deepest pit of his mind under careful lock and key. He shuddered.  


Point was, he had always tried protecting children as best as he could but had never actually tried to establish a rapport with them.  


Of course, there had been Warlock, but that had been out of necessity's sake more than anything else. Although he had to admit he missed the small bastard. _Would it be weird to contact the Dowlings out of the blue like that?_ He'd have to give it a thought. But this was purely out of choice. Not that he thought Adam had given him much of one, springing the whole thing on him like that.  


He was, by now, in rural Oxfordshire, speeding on two ways country roads that should be, by definition, either enlarged or marked as one way only.  


He was, by all intents and purposes, quite enjoying himself. He wasn’t quite prone to those disastrous thoughts out here in the countryside. He was thinking about death and torture and all of that but at least he wasn’t thinking about the elephant in the room. Well, the Bentley. Well, the bookshop, actually.  


He didn’t quite manage to make ends meet on the whole metaphor front as he drew to a screeching halt in front of the village’s one and only shop where the Them were waiting expectantly.  


He got out of the car and attempted a two-finger informal salute before Adam spluttered out:  


‘You’re _late_!’  


‘We haven’t actually decided on a precise hour now have we, kid?’  


‘But you’re late. And we wanted to get ice-cream. But _Wensleydale_ here,’ and this, Crowley realised, was a jab more at Wensleydale than himself, ‘said it ain’t polite to get ice-cream without you.’  


‘So, for how long have you kids been waiting then?’  


‘Half an hour.’  


This was accompanied by a general pout.  


‘Ain’t that bad then.’ Another general survey of their expressions proved that it was indeed that bad. ‘Come on then, we’ll get some now. Patience is a virtue, after all.’  


‘Should you be talking about virtues?’ Brian asked with honest curiosity. Being raised in a proper catholic household did that to you. Especially if you were to converse with demons.  


‘Can’t see why not. I can talk about whatever I like. As should you. As should anyone, really.’  


‘But you’re a _demon_!’  


This was said as they opened the door to the shop and the clerk shot Brian quite a loaded glare.  


Crowley waved at him in dismissal.  


The clerk was still pursing his lips judgmentally. _Kids had no respect these days. Going on calling people names like that. And it was the adults’ fault for permitting it. If it was for him, the kid in question would get a good spanking_.  


Crowley sensed this and his lip twitched. With a snap of his fingers a variety of not very heavenly thoughts of scraping off some of the money from the shop’s charity box plagued the man’s mind. Sure, this was more up Hastur or Ligur’s alley but he could not be bothered with that. People wanting to beat up kids deserved Hell. And, of course, it was entirely up to the clerk himself whether or not he did anything about those thoughts. Crowley knew for a fact that he would. _Nasty bugger_.  


The kids each picked their choice of ice-cream. _Not that there was much of a choice to begin with_, he commented casually and was met with quite an enthusiastic response.  


‘See, I told you there’s 39 flavours of ice-cream,’ Wensleydale intoned proudly just as Crowley was paying.  


Pepper still didn’t seem convinced.  


‘What do you mean, 39? There’s hundreds of them,’ Crowley asked, honestly intrigued that this was a subject that held so much importance to them. _Oh, right, eleven-years-old_. Not that he hadn’t in the past had an equally apt conversation with Aziraphale about dolphins. Not that he would admit that to anyone, mind you.  


‘_Hundreds_?’ Adam was looking at his vanilla-flavoured cone with a look similar to the ones he threw the greens his mother insisted on spoiling each dinner with.  


‘Myeah, well. There’s walnut, and pistachio and mint and orange and lime and mango. All of the fruits really, now that I think about it. Couple of blokes saw fit to make cheesecake and tiramisu and cinnamon-apple pie flavours. There’s even cookiedough, if you believe that.’  


Judging by their expressions he might have well have stated that he was Jesus Christ, son of God, reborn and put upon this Earth.  


‘S’just ice-cream.’  


Of course it was just ice-cream for him, a supernatural entity that had sampled most of the countless flavours people came up with during the ages. Most of them at Aziraphale’s request, obviously. But for the four kids who had had the whole wide array of only three options for the last eleven years of their lives that was hardly the case. He was in one of those do-goody moods he hated. He sighed.  


‘Well, go on then, what do you want?’  


‘Cookiedough!’ they all said at once, shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. _Children were so predictable_.  


‘Oh, this is amazing! ‘Pepper intoned, mouth full of ice-cream as they all bit into their cones with gusto.  


‘Can you do another?’  


They were not even three bites in but the floodgates were already opened. So, in a swift succession the cones transformed from coconut to melon to pineapple, to that wonderful nocciola he remembered eating with Aziraphale in Venice that one time and back to cookiedough again. That had been decided by general consensus to be the best out of the lot.  


Ice-creams now long gone; they all threw him a puppy-eyed look that they had perfected into an art-form in their long eleven years of life. They all knew it always had the desired effect.  


‘Alright, alright,’ Crowley scoffed and four more cones came into existence. He felt generous today. ‘I think you’ll like this,’ he said as with another snap of his fingers said cones were glazed in chocolate and covered in sprinkles.  


The Them all but beamed. Thank Heaven…Hell…_fuck_ that Aziraphale wasn’t here or he’d go on about how nice he was being. _He was not nice_. He just corrupted four people to gluttony. Four kids, _goddammit_. He would never corrupt kids. _Damn_. He was actually being nice. _Fancy that_.  


Second cone now finished the puppy eyed look came back with a vengeance. He was having none of it, this time around.  


‘I think that’s quite enough, for now. Maybe next time.’  


The Them pouted, but Adam was quite overjoyed. _There would be a next time_.  


‘Besides, you said you want to go for a drive. Wouldn’t want you barfing on the leather.’  


The pouts disappeared as this new exciting adventure gripped their young minds.  


‘_Ahah_, just wait a moment, where _exactly_ do _you_ think you’re going?’ This was addressed to Brian who was doused in ice-cream from head to toes. Nothing a quick snap of fingers couldn’t fix.  


‘My mum will be very grateful for that.’  


He would expect that to be the case if this was what happened every time the boy ate an ice-cream. That woman should be canonised as a saint for putting up with that.  


Then of course there was the problem with Dog. It would be a cold day in Hell before Crowley would let any specimen of the canine variety cross the Bentley’s threshold. It was always cold in Hell. And damp. And Adam had assured him there would be no shedding of hair so, of course, there wasn’t.  


They were on their way to the ravine when Pepper commented something about overcompensating for something in regards to the ungodly speed of his driving.  


Crowley turned his head towards the backseat to give her the stink eye and they nearly ran someone over. It was an old man walking a very sausagey-looking dog. Crowley could swear he’d seen him at some point or other in the past but could not be bothered to remember when.  


‘Sorry ‘bout that.’  


‘It’s okay,’ Adam reassured him. _Serves him right for snitching to his father like that._  


‘As for your earlier comment, _young lady_,’ Crowley drawled as he knew _that_ would get a reaction from her, ‘I don’t think you know what that actually means.’  


‘Well, that’s what mother says.’  


‘You should have your own opinions. Want me to drive slower?’ This was said with both hands completely off the wheel while he was half-turned towards the backseat. His foot was however lightly pressing on the break to the Bentley’s general confusion.  


There were scowls all around. Even on Pepper’s face.  


‘No,’ she muttered in admittance.  


Crowley grinned and floored the acceleration pedal. At least _someone_ appreciated his driving.  


It had been a nice day. Kids having fun. Clerks being tempted. Driving around however he saw fit. So _why in Satan’s name_ was he thinking about the angel right now? _Well, fuck me sideways aren’t you a pathetic wretch?_  


They were at the ravine in fifteen minutes. It would usually take the Them the better part of two hours, on bike, at least. It would take any driver that wasn’t Crowley almost forty minutes.  


He parked the car on the side of the road in a quite convenient parking spot that had not existed up until a minute ago.  


They all got out of the car and Crowley made his way to an impressive-looking fallen tree trunk. The sun was shining on that particular area, making its way through the branches. It would make for a good spot to bask in the sunlight. Maybe even a nap. This was actually rather pleasant all around. Nature everywhere around him. Luscious plants and tall trees and the like. He made a mental note to yell at the plants when he got home. They hadn’t had a proper yelling at in a week now. He was sure there would be spots. He sat down on the ground, back resting against the log, assessing plant life around him.  


Adam however lingered behind and was staring tentatively at Crowley.  


‘Do you want to play with us?’  


‘Not big on playing, me. Demon and all that. But you go along.’  


Adam didn’t budge.  


‘But then you’d be lonely.’  


Crowley chortled down a laugh that sounded more like a sob.  


‘You know, kid, 6000 years is a long time down on this Earth. I’m bound to get lonely at some point.’  


That strengthened Adam’s resolve. He sat down next to Crowley and waved at the others to go on without him.  


‘Come on, kid. Go off and play. You don’t have to be miserable on my part. God knows I’m doing stellar in that aspect all by myself. Isn’t that why we came here? So you could play?’  


‘I can play later. Or tomorrow. Or next week. We came here because I think it’s nice and I wanted to show you something nice.’  


‘It is rather quaint.’  


There was a moment of silence. Crowley eyed Adam warily.  


‘Are you sure? You’ll grow terrible bored.’  


‘Well, I called you over. And if I must do boring adult stuff and talk about feelings then that’s okay.’  


‘About _what_?’  


‘You’re very lonely.’ It was a statement, not a question. Adam seemed to be doing that quite frequently.  


‘Well, like I’ve said before -’  


‘You don’t need to be lonely.’  


Crowley took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. It wouldn’t do to start crying in front of a kid. _You pathetic piece of shit!_  


‘How’s mister Fell doing?’ Adam asked, all innocently.  


_Ah_, there it was, the point of contention.  


‘How should I know, kid?’  


The fingers were still pressed over his eyes.  


‘I thought you were friends.’  


‘I thought the same, kid. Now I don’t know what to think. You know what he told me three days ago? That he didn’t even like me.’  


‘That’s not very nice.’  


He barked an un-amused laugh.  


‘It isn’t, is it? Not very angelic, right?’  


‘Why are you friends then, if he’s not nice?’  


That was a loaded question.  


‘Dunno really. I suppose it’s just been us, not being nice together for the past 6000 years. Bound to happen at some point.’  


‘So what do you do then?’  


‘Hm?’  


‘What do you and mister Fell do? As friends? Me and the gang play in the forest and drive our bikes and we made this game about the British Inquisition.’  


Crowley’s eyes snapped open as if he’d been prodded with a red-hot poker.  


‘What is it?’ Adam asked, realising his obvious distress.  


‘Maybe don’t play that.’  


‘Why’s that?’  


‘Been around for the Spanish one. Not a good time to be alive. Brings back nasty memories.’  


‘Okay then. Wasn’t that interesting to begin with. Going about burning witches. Anathema’s a witch. It would be a shame if someone burned her.’  


A small huff escaped Crowley. Give it to kids to take one of the most heinous periods of human history and transform it into a game to pass the afternoon.  


‘So what do you do?’ Adam insisted.  


‘Just stuff, I guess. Feed the ducks in St. James’, go out to eat, go for drives - although he doesn’t like that part awfully much. Spend the evenings in the bookshop. You know, _stuff_.’  


‘Sounds boring.’  


‘Yeah, well, I _did_ warn you.’  


‘Maybe it’s not boring if you do it with someone you like. That’s what mum’s said when I told her our trip to Scotland was boring. And she looked at dad and said that. And I thought that was nice. It was really _really_ boring, though.’  


‘Yeah, well, boring is good after the week we’ve had.’  


There was another pause.  


‘D’you know I tried running away before the Apocalypse? Just saying _fuck all_, taking the angel and running. And then I went back to his bookshop and everything was on fire and I couldn’t find him. I searched and searched and just couldn’t,’ his voice was breaking at this point. ‘I thought he was dead.’  


Adam wasn’t very well-versed in comforting adults, never-mind supernatural, immortal beings. He scooted over and patted Crowley on the shoulder. This earned him a sob.  


‘And then he acted like nothing had happened. Like everything was tickety-boo.’  


Adam rolled his eyes.  


‘As to who says that, Aziraphale bloody says that and I can’t get myself to hate him for it.’  


‘Well, Pepper says a lot of things I can’t understand and I don’t hate her,’ Adam supplied as if that was that and now everything would be fine and dandy with the world.  


‘You’re being awfully nice for the son of Satan,’ Crowley said, knees to his chest and arms draped around his legs.  


Adam shrugged. Then he bit his lip in thought.  


‘Maybe he’s lonely as well.’  


‘He’s got his books. Never needed anything else.’ The bitterness dripped from his tone thick enough that even a kid could catch up on it.  


‘Well I always thought having friends was good. And you have friends. There’s me and Pepper and Wensleydale and Brian. And Dog too, of course. And mister Fell,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘But what if he only has you?’  


The ride back to London was spent in silence, even the Bentley being able to sense this was one of those 'no music' occasions.  


Adam’s words were the only thing going through his head right now. Over and over. _What if he only has you?_  


What if he’d been too engrossed in his spurned lover nonsense behaviour to realise that maybe Aziraphale needed a friend after all they had been through. _Just a friend_. Surely he could give him that. _But no, he had to spoil everything, him with his head up his arse._  


If that would be the case then Aziraphale would call. _Let him reach out for once_, Crowley’s bitter mind supplied. 


	7. In which Aziraphale fusses over nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like he usually does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split the last chapter in two since it irked me to have two different scenes in the same chapter.

**Tuesday. Two days after the end of the world. 9pm.  
Mayfair. Interior.**

He had called. Four times. And apparently came by and left a note under the door.  


The note was scribbled quite hastily, not at all in Aziraphale’s perfect cursive. _So it wasn’t a planned affair_.

_My dear, please call. I’m very worried about you._  
_A._

He circled the answering machine playing the recordings in chronological fashion.  


The first one had been at two.  


_‘Hello, Crowley. Wanted to inquire if you’d like to go for a late lunch. There’s this wonderful Italian place that opened just last month. They make a to-die-for cannoli.’_  


The second one at four.  


_‘Hello, dear. It slipped my mind completely that you quite enjoy sleeping and maybe decided to have a long nap. How awful of me. Well, if you’re up for it maybe we could grab takeout and have dinner at the bookshop. Do let me know.’_  


The third at one-minute past four.  


_‘Oh, and could you grab a bottle of bubbly? I do have some lovely reds but I was feeling more festive today.’_  


The last one was at half past seven.  


_‘Crowley, I don’t know what you’re playing at but it’s not funny. I’m worried sick that something has happened to you. That’s it, I’m coming over.’_  


Adam had been right. Aziraphale was also lonely. And scared. And all he needed was a friend. And now Crowley made him worry uselessly as well. He picked up the phone and called the bookshop.  


It rang once.  


_Was this what Aziraphale was doing now?_ He thought back to three nights ago. Just standing by the phone waiting for Crowley to call and assure him he hadn’t done some stupid shit and got himself killed.  


‘Is that you, Crowley?’  


‘Do many people call the bookshop at this hour?’  


Aziraphale harrumphed. Literally harrumphed. Like he was something out of a Dickens’ novel. Crowley couldn’t help but smile. _He would be the death of him, his fussy angel_. He didn’t even fight the ‘his’ this time around.  


‘Well, I’m glad to see you’re alright, dear. Gave me quite a scare taking off like that. And when I got to your flat and I couldn’t find you…well, I thought of the worst things. But you’re alright now, so that’s good.’  


Crowley thought back to the burning bookshop and how scared he’d been of losing the angel forever. He never wanted Aziraphale to feel like that. _Not ever_. Why didn’t the blasted fool call his mobile? _Oh, right_. He was going to do something about that tomorrow.  


‘Angel, are you busy tonight?’  


‘Free as a bird. Do you want to come over, dear?’  


‘Was thinking more in the lines of getting wasted in a bar.’  


He could feel Aziraphale’s disapproval washing over him in waves.  


‘No, it would be quite an elegant affair, I promise. I know a lovely place. Really good reviews,’ he said as if Aziraphale could be half-arsed to know about reviews.  


‘I suppose we could try it then. If it’s something you’d like. You always come over to places I want to go. I don’t see why not.’  


‘Wonderful. Pick you up in ten.’  


He hung the phone. He could hear Aziraphale muttering something about how he couldn’t get from Mayfair to Soho in ten so he made it his life goal to get there in six.


	8. One tends to wonder how the immaculate conception news were delivered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm serious. It keeps me up at night. I just picture John Hamm looking slightly bored at a young Virgin Mary and saying something like 'Well, it couldn't be helped, really.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We start seeing the other side of the coin. It's going to feature Aziraphale, but for now it's just Anathema's POV. Also, I sort of shit on organised religion as a whole, so there's that ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Saturday. Half an hour after the end of the world.  
Jasmine Cottage. Interior.**

Aziraphale was fussing over the countless notes and cards Anathema’s family had made concerning the prophecies and how to best interpret them. They proved to be a rather exceptionally intelligent bunch. He said as much.  


‘Well thank you. And sorry for accusing you of stealing my book.’  


‘Water under the bridge, my dear.’  


Anathema decided to be a good host and started making tea. _From those small pre-packaged tea bags_, Aziraphale noted with a frown. He himself was sat at the kitchen table, as it was customary for guests, and the young boy, Newton, he believed, was sat across from him, staring at him, mouth hanging open.  


Anathema spotted this when she came around with the cups and gently cupped his chin, closing his mouth.  


Aziraphale took a sip of the tea, shuddered, and then miracled it into a nice, savoury assam.  


If Anathema spotted that, she had the grace not to comment. And anyway, she should not be offended by that. Everyone knew Americans weren’t the most apt people when it came to tea.  


Newton sipped his tea as well and went through the whole thought process Aziraphale had, down to the little shudder, without however, the merciful option of miracling the taste away.  


‘You’re an angel then,’ Newton said plainly. _Anything to erase the memory of that sip of tea_.  


‘It would appear so, yes.’  


‘Never been the religious sort myself. Seems like I have to reevaluate that.’  


‘You don’t need to be religious to go to Heaven,’ Aziraphale said, quite out of character. He wanted to slap his hand over his mouth. Yesterday he would have. But it was the truth. And he was feeling a bit rebellious at the moment. He carried on. _And why shouldn't he?_ The Almighty Herself never said people needed to believe in Her. _Never said anything for quite some time now, but still_. Back in the days of the Garden She spoke to Adam and Eve openly. How could you believe in something that you saw in front of your very own eyes? Heard with your very own ears? It would be like people suddenly stating they believed in sunsets or morning coffee. The need for organised belief came from Upstairs, sure enough, but enough millennia had passed for Aziraphale to put two and two together and come up to the conclusion that no one had asked for God's opinion on the matter. They just decided on it on their own. Felt neat, proper, _organised_. And he supposed they did like things neat and proper Up there.  


‘God never said people had to believe in Her.’  


Anathema’s face split into quite a nice wide smile.  


‘God’s a woman. _Huh_. Go figure.’  


‘Not a woman, dear. She’s God. Metaphysical beings of indescribable power don’t get so easily labelled like you humans seem to want to do.’  


‘_Semantics_. Go on then.’

She sipped some of her own tea, pulled a face, and then took all of their mugs, even Aziraphale’s lovely assam and spilled them down the drain. He was a bit disappointed by that but, the disappointment didn’t last long, as she pulled out quite an expensive bottle of Macallan Lalique from one of the cupboards and poured the three of them quite a healthy dose.  


‘I was saying,’ Aziraphale continued after tasting the exceptional whisky, ‘that God doesn’t care if you believe or not. She cares about people doing good, and being good and helping others. There’s more Budhists in Heaven than you would believe. More Hindus too. Muslims and Jews and quite a fair share of atheists. It doesn’t matter what you believe in as long as you’re a good person.’  


‘Isn’t that a bit…problematic?’  


‘Whatever do you mean?’  


‘Going around, saying stuff like that would rub a lot of people the wrong way.’  


‘How so?’  


The angel was being deliberately obtuse.  


‘I mean, after a lifetime of believing in something, I think it’s a bit shit to go up to the Pearly Gates and _whoops_, there’s Peter instead of Buddha or whoever else you thought would greet you. I would be very pissed.’  


‘Oh no, dear girl, you got it all wrong. People believe in whatever they want to believe, and that’s good. God is everywhere and in all of the beliefs. People just interpret Her differently. And whichever way they interpret Her than that’s how it’s going to be. You believe in reincarnation, you reincarnate. You believe in the Norse mythology, you get to dine in Valhalla. Except when the scales tip. That glitch in the system hasn’t been addressed yet. You’re either good or bad. Each religion talks about that. Divine ecstasy and divine retribution. They are all right. Except whoever’s thought about Purgatory. That’s _complete_ balderdash.’  


Anathema smirked. She liked the angel very much. Up until an hour ago she never gave much thought to the possibility of an actual Heaven or Hell existing, but, as any human being with eyes and ears and a functioning brain, Christianity was not something lost on her. Quotes from scripture, depictions of angels and demons, sightings even – although she didn’t much believe in those – were not foreign things to her. So, she found it a bit hard to associate the image of Aziraphale, looking like a Victorian-era gentleman who just happened to stumble upon a Delorean, with how writers depicted the Heavenly Host. She had a hard time picturing him imparting any divine wrath. Perhaps that’s why she liked him. She had never been a huge fan of how angels were depicted, never mind her not believing in them. _It just made for poor storytelling_, she would tell her mother. It was either all angels were pure and full of love and soft and wonderful or angels were beings of immense power, cold and distant and uncaring about humanity, their sole focus on the War To End All Wars. She had always found that to be very unnerving. It should be one or the other. It had never crossed her mind that maybe it was both because people who had written about them had encountered both. That there could _be_ both. She thought back to that prim _I’m-better-than-you’ll-ever-be_ wanker at the airbase. He filed into the latter category. Then she found out, via Aziraphale, that that fucker was Archangel Gabriel. That made her severely question how the whole immaculate conception news got to Mary. He seemed the type to loudly announce something along the lines of _Well, I guess you’re pregnant now_.  


Then, of course, there was the angel currently sitting in her kitchen. He filed into the first category and there was no doubt about it. He defied all of Heaven so that he could save the humans. If that wasn’t the depiction of goodness, she didn’t know what was. On the other hand, Aziraphale’s demon friend? Boyfriend? _Whatever he was_ – he did the same thing. And she would think punishments in Hell were not of the ‘_that was not very nice, please don’t do it again_’ variety. She was having quite a big crisis of faith for someone who didn’t believe in any of that nonsense to begin with.  


Apparently, her mind had wandered off, deep in thought, as, when her attention returned to the table, Aziraphale and Newt were discussing the stunt Newt had pulled on the airbase computers quite animatedly.  


‘Oh, my boy, I really get it, you know. I never know what buttons to push on all of these modern-day contraptions. It seems they change them every couple of years now.’  


She went for the whisky bottle to refill everyone’s glasses when Azirapahle realised what time it was.  


‘Oh dear, I must go. I’ve let Crowley wait for me for quite some time now. It’s awfully rude.’  


He got up and adjusted his waistcoat and bow-tie and he threw a long look at the notes and clippings.  


‘I’m very glad someone like you had Agnes’s book. I would have loved to have it and discover all the bits and pieces, but you, my dear, did an excellent job at preventing the world from ending.’  


_Oh, he was such a cinnamon roll_. She wanted to hug him.  


‘A shame, really, that there aren’t any more of them. So that we could prevent the next one, if need be.’  


Anathema thought very hard. Agnes would surely know that this was the way it was all going to go. Witches and Witchfinders and Angels and Demons and small kids banding together at the End. So surely, she knew this was not The End. There had to be more prophecies.  


She said as much.  


‘Not that I’d be present for that one, mind you,’ the angel added with a note of deep sadness in his voice, her previous comment not even registering in his troubled mind.  


_Oh, right! Oh, shit! Heaven and Hell were after them_. She’d just made an angel friend and he was probably going to be executed tomorrow.  


‘There must be a prophecy about you two as well,’ she ventured.  


‘Oh, there is. I just don’t know what to make of it yet. Maybe I had enough time with the book that I’ll be able to get it right,’ the angel replied with a kind, albeit sad smile upon his face.  


‘Wait a second,’ she raised her hand to make him stop as he was making his way towards the door.  


She found a pen and a piece of paper and quickly wrote down her phone number.  


‘Here you go,’ she offered said piece of paper. ‘If you’re ever in need of a friend.’  


‘Oh, my dear girl, you shouldn’t have,’ is what the angel said. _We’d both probably be done for by tomorrow_ was what he didn’t add, but she knew.  


‘Jot down yours, why don’t you?’  


With a curt smile, he did. And then he thanked them for the hospitality, took up the box of namesakes and symbols he had gathered from the airbase for no apparent reason and left.  


Newt got up from the table and crossed his arms around his chest.  


‘Something really bad is going to happen to him, isn’t it?’  


‘Not if Agnes has anything to say about it,’ Anathema smiled, took his hand and led them both towards the bedroom. _Knowing Agnes, she would have something to say about it_. Better hope Aziraphale would understand what it was.


	9. Playing Pretend is not as fun as one might think it would be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that we've had just enough of moronic demon energy, let's tune in to the angel's side of things. Just kidding, there's never enough moronic demon energy. It will come back in later chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's POV. It's much shorter than the Crowley chapter recounting the same events, but sad Crowley is such a delight to write, while sad Aziraphale makes me sad as well.  
Later edit: I started writing this before the big reveal with the hand-holding on the bus, so I guess I'm veering a little bit from canon. :(

**Saturday. Two hours after the end of the world.  
Tadfield. Exterior.**

He saw Crowley’s bright red hair from a mile away. If this was their last night on this earth then he would surely say something. He knew the demon was expecting him to, had been expecting him to for a while now. As he got gradually closer, he realised Crowley wasn’t alone. He was accompanied by Adam, of all people. _Well, all supernatural entities_.  


They were making fun of Gabriel. Not that he much cared. Gabriel was a horrid, despicable angel, much like the rest of them. But he felt like he still had to keep up a front so he grumbled about it slightly without meaning it. Then Crowley went and gave his phone away to the boy and _damn him for all eternity_ but somehow, he loved the demon even more.  


He could say it now. He had wanted to say it for ages. Ever since Constantinople. Or was it Carthage? Or Florence when Crowley convinced Machiavelli to write that <strike>awful</strike> very good piece of literature? Was it in Germany as Martin Luther nailed that piece of parchment on that church door, knowing full well Aziraphale felt the same about organised religion and corruption in the Church and Indulgences and Pardons but not being able to do anything about it? Was it when Beaudelaire published the Fleurs de Mal? Or was it when Shakespeare sent him a sonnet that he swore was one of Crowley’s altogether?  


The minute he realised he loved the demon was in 1941. _No, that was not it_. He realised he loved the demon centuries ago. Almost ten of them, if we wanted to be precise. That was the moment he realised he was being loved back.  


But he was the one to always pull on the brakes. So maybe Crowley didn’t love him anymore. Maybe he realised that waiting after a particular thick angel would be rather boring. Maybe he gave up on him. Or stopped loving him altogether. He did the most he could do. He sat beside him on the bus. 

If Crowley ever wanted anything more, he would sneak his hand around Aziraphale’s. He was giving him the options. The demon did anything but that.  


_That was it then_. He missed his window. He would gladly be a considerate acquaintance on the demon’s part. He wanted to lean in and shower Crowley with kisses. To take his hand and hold it till the next end of days, or whenever their respective sides decided to take action. To card his hands through his hair and sing him praises. To touch his skin and reverently kiss all of it inch by inch.  


_This was his doing_, he was well aware, his thigh and shoulder and elbow glued to the demon. He wanted to act on it but he couldn’t. _Wouldn’t_. He had no idea. He had agreed to go back to Crowley’s place. _Maybe that was enough_. He had no clue what that would entail but he had a rather vivid imagination. He was thinking about being pinned to the bed, while his wrists were tied to the headboard. Of Crowley’s long snake-like tongue doing unspeakable things to him. Of him being fucked senseless until he couldn't even remember his name when he spotted Crowley’s building out in his peripheral vision. He summoned a small miracle and the driver stopped.  


‘My dear,’ he said on a hesitant tone. ‘I think this is our stop.’  


Crowley wasn’t his usual self. Maybe he will be when they would be inside and safe in Crowley’s abode, both of them. And then Aziraphale could dream on about things that he’d kept under wraps for hundreds of years. He expected that as soon as he passed Crowley’s threshold he would be thrust into a wall. He didn’t expect Crowley to miracle a blanket out of thin air, throw it at him and be done with that.  


He spent the night reading Shakespeare’s sonnets, for as much good that it did him.  


He stumbled upon the sonnet that Shakespeare had dedicated to Crowley. Actually, wrote it because of Crowley. It was wonderful. He spent aeons looking at it. He loved it. _He loved Crowley_. He loved everything about him, from his dainty little walk, to the way his eyes shone on the rare occasions he would take his glasses off back at the bookshop, the flame of his locks, the freckles that mapped his face and neck like constellations, the way he hissed when he was upset and the way his lips would curl up almost imperceptibly when he was happy. If Aziraphlale had been a painter, he would have undoubtedly been able to paint each and every detail of Crowley from memory alone. He had been hyper-fixating on most of them for quite a while now. He loved it whenever Crowley preformed blessings as part of the Arrangement. And he loved it even more when he could chance the very fond and satisfied expression he bore just after it. He would deny it, _of course_, but he knew Crowley was taking great pleasure in even the smallest acts of kindness. Much like he, himself, had been rather proud on more than several occasions about the little temptations he had accomplished. _Made you think at the end of the day, who was the angel and who was the demon_. Crowley had saved the children from the flood. Aziraphale had just stayed put, trying to justify such an enormous loss of life without taking any action against it. Had saved the angel on more than enough occasions. Had actually broken a wing in the process and kept mum about it for more than ten years before Aziraphale got wind of it. He had never lied to Aziraphale. Never in 6000 years. Aziraphale had lied to Crowley three times in the last two days. Maybe he should be the one to spend eternity down in a bottomless pit and Crowley should be up there, perched upon a cloud. _Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate_, indeed.  


He had to find a way to save his very angelic demon from total annihilation.  


He pulled out the charred scrap of paper and gave it another read.  


_When alle is fayde and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre._  


Hellfire and Holy Water, then. _Well, that was imaginative._  


If only he could find a way to make sure not a drop of the stuff touched Crowley. It had been one of his biggest fears for 157 years now. If only he could take his place and be the one to descend into the bowels of Hell…  


And then the penny dropped.  


Oh…._OH!_  


_Oh, they will all be played for suckers_, like that wonderful american expression said.  


Every wheel was turning in his mind, imagining all the possible outcomes. He could Fall. He didn’t much care about that. Not if the alternative was spending eternity without Crowley. He could be tortured for the rest of days once they realised he couldn’t be killed using Holy Water. That was a possibility, yes. He didn’t much care about that either. His thoughts ventured to things he did care about. _What if Heaven’s grace would affect Crowley?_ No demon had ever been up there. Not since they were cast out. What if there was any Holy Water or Heavenly Fire about? He knew there wouldn’t be, the place was a big void, an empty space, sterile and cold and he realised he quite hated it, to be honest. _But what if they were, this time?_  


It was at this point that the door to the bedroom opened and Crowley, quite unceremoniously, stumbled in the study, blanket wrapped around his legs. He nearly tripped on it.  


‘Lisssten, I ‘ave to tell you sssomething,’ he said, and Aziraphale hoped against hope that this was it. But they had to be safe first. He couldn’t bear thinking about 'what ifs' if they weren’t safe.  


‘And I you, dear boy,’ he said as he sat up. This wasn’t a sitting down conversation.  


He told him he figured out the prophecy. Crowley seemed unfazed. Then he told him the actual plan. Crowley seemed very _very_ fazed by that.  


‘Nah, we ain’t doing that.’  


_What does he mean we aren’t doing that? How else am I going to be able to save you you infuriating  
_demon_, you?_  


Crowley was swaying in place. _Oh, he was just drunk then. Surely he would see reason once he sobered up._  


Crowley sobered up. He didn’t see reason. Aziraphale was getting quite frustrated at the turn of events.  


He rather imagined it going like this: they would agree upon the plan and then Crowley would profess his undying love for Aziraphale, or Aziraphale would profess his undying love for Crowley. Anyway, there would be love confessions. He didn’t believe they would have petty squabbles, like schoolchildren. But in the end Crowley had given up, like he always would when Aziraphale asked for anything.  


Their palms were touching and Aziraphale felt a shiver pass through his whole body. _Right, how exactly were they doing this?_

He closed his eyes and tried picturing Crowley’s essence. His immortal soul. Crowley would joke that demons didn’t have any souls, but, of course, he was wrong about that. It danced in front of his eyes in shades of reds and oranges tinged with deep purples. It was beautiful, like a sunset. Crowley would say it looked more like the fires of Hell, but he was wrong about that, too. He pushed, ever so gently towards it. They ebbed and flowed like a river getting to the sea, like oil and water, like fire and ice. And then, for a moment stilled in time, they were one. It was heavenly. No, better than Heaven would ever be. It was just them. And then their essences dissolved into singularities and he was now in Crowley’s body. It screamed with need at him. He opened his eyes and he saw his own body, now inhabited by Crowley make a face and then disappear. His heart sank in his chest. He would have expected this moment to be the one when they would bear it all down. And yet, the demon, bearing his own face, looked down on himself, made a face like he was about to retch and bolted. So much for his thoughts of getting together in the end. _So that was it, then_. Crowley din’t love him like Aziraphale thought he did. _Well, he did _love_ him_, of course. But like how you love your friends. You wouldn’t want anything wrong to happen to them, would do your best to prevent it, even. But you wouldn’t think about jumping in bed with them. Crowley wasn’t _in love_ with him. And after all, _how could he be_? How in Heaven’s name had he managed to deceive himself all these years that a fussy, soft and plump little bookkeeper would be the apple of Crowley’s eye. He looked down at the body he was now inhabiting and choked down a sob. Gabriel had been right. Crowley’s look of utter disgust when he had glanced down Aziraphale’s body was like a dagger to the heart. He looked like he was about to vomit. Of all the things that Gabriel could have been right about, it had to be _this_. God, _he was such a disgrace_.

Had Azirahale stopped being a whiny bitch for even a moment, he would have definitely felt the incessant buzz just under the surface of the body he was now inhabiting, screaming at him from the top of its metaphorical lungs. _Want. Need. Lust. Love. Hope. Devotion. Adoration._ He didn’t stop, however so, the voice grumbled something about a certain angel having his head up his own arse and retreated to the dark pit of despair that made for more than 60% of the demon at all times. Aziraphale did feel jittery however, much like a person who had drunk ten Red Bulls in the span of an hour as a dare.  


At some point or other he tried to stop feeling sorry for himself, although that took longer than it usually did. Wallowing in self pity seemed to come more naturally to him in this corporation. He started pacing. Then he saw the mess in the doorway towards the hall and panic gripped him yet again. That was holy water. And whatever little remained of a demon. He had not previously noticed it. He had entered the room from the greenery and not the hall and had tried keeping the lights as dim as possible so as not to wake Crowley. Then he had been engrossed in his book. Then with the prophecy. And the fight. _Oh, good Lord, he had to clean that at once._


	10. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, witch - The Sequel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, people, but I changed canon just a tad. I love Neil and Terry dearly, but burning the prophecies - just....ugh!  
Also, for no particular reason, I see Anathema as a no-nonsense, whisky-drinking gal.  
Also also, she and Newt can't cook for shit.  
Don't ask me why that is, it just is. In my head, at least.

**Sunday. One day after the end of the world. 3pm.  
Jasmine Cottage. Interior.**

‘Well, you _did_ say there would be more,’ Newt offered helpfully as Anathema was sat at the kitchen table, arms crossed across her chest and a pout on her face. The new series of Prophecies was spread on the table in front of her and it might as well have given her the stink-eye.  


Newt was making hot chocolate as there were no supplies in the cottage for making tea. _Proper tea_, that is.  


‘I just didn’t expect them to be delivered on my doorstep the day after we finished with the old ones. I just wanted a break, I suppose.’  


She groaned and started massaging her temples. The hot chocolate helped. It was very good hot chocolate.  


She started inspecting the papers, more out of curiosity’s sake than anything else. For her part, she wanted nothing to do with them anymore. She had spent her entire life doing just that and she was tired. After today’s light read, she would lock the box away in the attic and be done with it.  


By the time Newt came along with a couple of slices of buttered toast and some jam she was engrossed in the thing. There was no mention of her whatsoever, which, at the start, made her frown, but the longer she kept reading, she realised Agnes must have known she would have the exact reaction she just had. These were not meant for her. There were quite a few mentions of angels, though.  


So, toast in hand, she kissed the top of Newt’s head and went back to the bedroom to find her phone. Then she picked up the piece of paper Aziraphale had left and dialled his number. It rang for quite a while yet no one picked up. She bit her lip worriedly.  


‘I can’t reach him. What if something happened? What if he didn’t figure out Agnes’s prophecy after all?’  


‘Maybe Adam could be able to help,’ Newt offered, helpfully.  


‘Yes. Adam. _Oh yes!_ You’re _brilliant_,’ she got up hurriedly, made for the door, turned back and kissed Newt and was off again.  


He could see her speeding down the hill on the bicycle. He sighed.  


‘Would have thought this would stop being a roller-coaster after we just averted the End of Days. Guess not,’ he muttered to himself.  


He got up and tended to the dishes. He would go to the shop later, fix the tea business. It just didn’t feel right being in a cottage in the English countryside and having no proper tea.  


Anathema pedalled like mad till she reached the Youngs’ house. When Mrs. Young answered the door, she was a mess. Hair tangled, with a couple of dry leaves thrown in for aesthetic purposes, face flushed and she was really out of breath. She steadied herself with a hand pressed against one of the walls while the other one was lifted placatedly to let Mrs. Young know she had every intention of speaking whenever she would get her breath back. It took a bit over a minute.  


‘Dear, are you sure you’re alright? Come in, why don’t you? Have a glass of water, mhm?’  


‘Adam…I need to speak to Adam,’ Anathema managed in between two deep breaths.  


‘What has he gone and done _this_ time? He was supposed to stay inside. How did he upset you, miss -’  


‘Nathema…Anathema Device. He hasn’t done anything wrong. I’m actually a friend. I just really need to speak to him.’  


Deidre Young took in Adam’s new friend. She seemed a complete mess. Hair sticking out and clothes askew and a really desperate look on her face. But she also seemed awfully bright and clever. And, well, she supposed Adam’s group of friends did go for that sort of thing.  


‘I’m Deidre, pleased to meet you. Do come in.’  


Anathema was trailing after Mrs. Young apparently towards the kitchen where she was given, under protest, of course, a cup of tea and some biscuits.  


Her breath now slightly more even, she could carry on a normal conversation.  


‘So what do you need Adam for, dear?’ It felt odd to her that a twenty-something-year-old would befriend small children. Not odd like _that_, just odd.  


‘We have a common friend. I’m afraid something’s happened to him. And I hoped Adam knew something about him.’  


‘He was just in the garden earlier. I could go call him. Or, if you want, you could go yourself. It’s through here -’ she pointed towards the living room. ‘I’ll leave you two be. If you need anything, you know where to find me,’ she waved and continued preparing dinner, something that Anathema now realised she had quite rudely interrupted.  


She reached the garden. There was no Adam. There was a hole in the shrubbery however. She made a beeline for that.  


Adam was somewhere down in the valley being yelled at by that particular nasty fellow who had mumbled at her something about fatty spliffers. Apparently, Adam had nicked some of his apples. Couldn’t say she blamed the kid. She waved at him for a good couple of minutes before he caught sight of her.  


‘Hello Anathema,’ he greeted slightly out of breath. He had run up the hill, after all. ‘You look awful.’  


‘Aren’t you a sweetheart? Listen I -’  


‘Did mum let you in?’  


‘Yes, she did. Adam, I have to ask you something. It’s about the angel. Remember? Yesterday at the airbase?’  


‘Mister Fell, yes.’  


‘Well, last night we got to talking and one thing let to the other and he said that he was a bit frightened about what happens next, what with, you know…’ she pointed up and down suggestively. ‘There was a prophecy, he said, but I have no idea if he managed to crack it. I tried calling him earlier and he didn’t pick up. The thing I’m trying to say is – do you know if he’s alright? I thought you being…well…_you_, that you would have an idea.’  


‘He’s not alright at the moment, but he will be. They’re both going to be.’  


‘What do you mean he’s not alright at the moment?’  


‘Try calling him tonight.’  


And apparently that was the end of this particular conversation as Adam started playing fetch with Dog.  


Anathema was rather lost in thought when she felt a small hand on her elbow.  


‘Hmm?’  


‘I said it would be nice if you stayed for dinner,’ Adam repeated.  


‘I couldn’t possibly impose,’Anathema got her wits about her and was preparing to leave.  


‘Nonsense, dear. We always love meeting Adam’s friends. And it’s no bother. I made beef stew. I always make too much of that,’ Deidre Young intoned cheerfully from the door of the living room.  


‘Yeah, you’ll be helping out. Otherwise we’ll be eating that for days and _days_,’ Adam grumbled.  


‘Just lunch tomorrow, darling. But he’s right, we always have so many leftovers. It’s going to take a while to cook properly but I can bring some lemonades to the garden while we wait, mhm?’  


‘I really shouldn’t. Newt’s probably waiting for me and you know how he is with technology so I can’t possibly call him to tell him I’ll be late.’ This was more for Adam's sake than Mrs. Young's as she had no idea who Newt was, nevermind how terrible he was with modern-day technology.  


‘Then bring him over as well. Mum’s said it was going to take a while.’  


At this particular turn of events both Anathema and Mrs. Young were on the verge of protesting before Adam turned to his mother to explain the whole thing.  


‘Anathema is renting Jasmine Cottage, you see. Newt’s her boyfriend.’  


That had Mrs. Young thoroughly convinced. She’d been hearing quite a number of things about the mysterious young lady who was new in the village. American. Very posh. Very intriguing. She was not much of a gossip fan herself. But it was a rather small and dull village at the end of the day.  


‘Oh, you must come. Bring your young man with you. Like I said, it’s always a pleasure meeting Adam’s friends.’  


Anathema was on the loosing side here, being ambushed on both fronts. And a warm meal to remind her of home didn’t sound half bad. She had spent the last week on a strict sandwich diet as she was a disaster in the kitchen. And Newt was not to be trusted with the electrical oven. _Guess that was that_, then. She left, promising to return in three hours’ time.  


‘She’s quite nice, that one,’ Mrs. Young told Adam as they watched her drive her bicycle away.  


‘She is, isn’t she? She’s a witch, you know?’  


Mrs. Young chucked. _Young kids and their imaginations_.  


*** 

Newt was stocking the pantry with a wide array of various types of tea when Anathema returned. He had also bought a number of not easily perishable foods they could eat, seeing as neither of them was particularly apt in the cooking department.  


‘Change of plans,’ she said as soon as she opened the door. ‘We’re having dinner at the Youngs’ house.’  


‘Did you go and invite ourselves over, just like that?’  


She looked at him a bit hurt.  


‘Would I do that?’ she asked as if they had known each other since forever instead of one whole day. ‘Got rather forced into it. But I like Adam, and I think it’s best if his parents don’t see us as some creepy strangers trying to corrupt their kid. I’m going to change. First impressions and all.’  


The first impression had already happened and it had been a poor one. But, no matter.  


‘Do you have anything else to wear?’  


‘Of course I don’t. I didn’t plan this as an overnight affair, you know.’  


‘We’ll see what we can do.’

*** 

They were sat in the dining room in awkward silence. The Youngs never had much use of that particular room, not being the sort of couple that usually entertained. Yet here they were.  


Arthur Young, in particular, was rather confused about the general turn of events. He had met these people yesterday for the first time and now, here they were, in his house, sat down at his table. The young American woman had brought a fine, aged bottle of Talisker. _That was nice_. He did enjoy a glass of good whisky every now and again. Not that he ever bought any of the expensive stuff. He was enjoying his third glass for the evening and the young lady, _Anathema, was it?_ Such a strange name. The young lady in the question was also quite enjoying the whisky herself, while Deidre and the young fellow were sipping a store-brand rose. Adam was feeding Dog scraps in a very obvious fashion. He threw him a Look. Adam had the decency to look guilty and stopped. He started feeding Dog again ten minutes later.  


‘So what is it you youngsters do?’ he asked out of politeness’ sake.  


‘I’m a computer engineer,’ Newt replied.  


Anathema threw him quite a loaded look, although, for the life of him, Arthur Young couldn’t understand why.  


‘That’s got to be difficult around here. Not many open positions for computer engineers in Tadfield.’  


‘I know, isn’t it brilliant?’  


Arthur Young failed to see how exactly was not having a job qualified as ‘brilliant’.  


‘How about you, miss?’  


‘Anathema will do. Oh, I’m in between jobs at the moment, I suppose. The thing I’ve garnered all my energy towards for the last couple of years sort of ended yesterday.’  


‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ Deidre supplied.  


Anathema didn’t seem very sorry herself.  


‘We’ll figure something out,’ she smiled at Newt.  


Arthur Young gave them a look that clearly suggested he thought young people were too lax when it came to job stability. _Especially in this economy_. He was the type of person that started using that phrase back in 2008 when it was on everyone’s lips and simply forgot to stop using it, eleven years later.  


‘How about some dessert?’ Deidre suggested  


This made Adam perk up, all that boring adult talk about the weather, and jobs and renting the cottage and what was such a bright young american doing in Lower Tadfield proving to be quite bothersome. But well, dessert, that would warrant having to keep them company through all of that.  


It was apple pie. Because, _of course it was_. The thing that the other four people seated around the table didn’t know was that the apples didn’t come from Tadfield’s one and only shop, but rather from R.P.Tyler’s backyard. Because he was nosy and annoying and deserved to get his apples stolen. Unbeknownst to him, Anathema wouldn’t much mind hearing the condescending old man get his comeuppance. His mother would certainly disapprove, though.  


He enjoyed the pie even more. _Serves him right_, for getting Adam grounded.  


There was some more boring adult stuff about the state of the economy and Brexit, of all things. Adam didn't much understand the concept, but, then again, according to his father at least, neither did the people in charge.  


He excused himself and went back to his room. He had a demon to call in on, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, people - I was serious about the whole comments bit. It's getting quite lonely out here. I know the Anathema&Adam chapters don't get much love around here but I really need them to advance the plot. What plot, you ask? I'm not very sure myself, but there's going to be one at some point.


	11. Inquires are made, assumptions are assumed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Anathema chapter. A short one. The next one's going to be Aziraphale's POV, I swear.

**Sunday. One day after the end of the world. 11pm  
Jasmine Cottage. Interior.**

The first thing Anathema did when she reached home was call Aziraphale for the second time. Adam had said she should call in the evening. It was already past eleven. Although she didn't think supernatural beings needed much sleep, it was a matter of propriety and politeness. She didn't care about any of that, so the phonecall happened regardless.  


'Oh, hello, my dear,' was heard from the receiver after the first ring.  


'Umm, hi.'  


There was a heavy pause. You could almost hear a pin drop. Aziraphale cleared his throat and started anew.  


'Hello, miss Device. I was expecting...someone else. It's lovely to hear from you though,' he added as an afterthought, so as not to appear impolite.  


‘Glad to hear from you, as well. I’ve tried calling you earlier. I was afraid something happened.’  


‘There was something, yes, but we’re quite over that now.’  


She noticed the ‘we’ instead of ‘I’.  


‘You cracked Agnes’s prophecy, then?’ she couldn’t help but smile widely.  


‘I did, yes. I’m very thankful. We would have been done for, were it not for her.’  


There we go again. _‘We’_. Quite unpromted, too.  


She let that be for the moment, having more pressing issues to discuss.  


‘About the prophecies…’  


‘Yes, dear?’  


‘There’s more.’  


‘What do you mean, there’s _more_? I had Agnes’s book for two whole days. Read it from cover to cover, quite religiously.’ He could not be bothered with the irony of using that particular word.  


‘They came today. Another whole book’s worth of them.’  


Anathema could not see through telephone lines, obviously, be they metaphorical or not, but she could swear his eyes lit up at that.  


‘Do you want them?’  


‘Do I…do I _want_ them?’  


‘Yeah, um…I don’t actually want them myself. The first ones were more than enough for a lifetime.’  


‘It would be quite an honour, I’m certain.’  


‘Good. I’ll drop by at the end of the week to bring them over. Can you give me your address?’  


She took a pen and wrote it down.  


‘Soho? _Really_? Well, I should have guessed, I suppose…’  


‘What was that, dear?’  


‘Nothing, it’s nothing,’ she replied quickly. _I mean, it obviously shows, but to pick the gayest part of London as your home base was a bit much, no?_  


‘I cannot thank you enough, dear. You have no idea how much books of prophecy mean to me.’  


‘A least I’ll know they’re in good hands. Say hi to your boyfriend for me,’ she added, by now puzzle completed. Even those pesky bits of sky that all looked alike all safely tuckered in place. ‘Although I’m still not over the fact that he ran me over with his car.’  


‘My….?’  


‘Goodnight. We’ll catch up later.’  


‘Right.’  


Anathema hung up the phone and drew a deep breath.  


At least the whole prophecy business was over and done with. And the angel was safe and sound.  


She had no idea that, at the moment, in London Soho a certain angel experienced quite a large amount of gay panic.  


‘Right then,’ she addressed Newt, ‘we’re supposed to go to London anyway to gather up some of your clothes. We might as well drop by Aziraphale’s.’  


Newt didn’t see the need to comment on that. He tried to talk about himself moving in as little as possible for fear that Anathema might, at some point or other, snap out of whatever stupor she was in, and realise just what the hell was she doing with such a waste of space as himself.  


‘Come on then, let’s go to bed. Dinner at the Youngs’ was soul-draining.’


	12. An angel muses over things in general and a certain demon in particular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at it with the angst. Aziraphale's this time. As was promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a mess, chronologically speaking, but it's a self-contained mess. I need some scenes to play out in this particularly messy way for the whole thing to work out.

**Sunday. One day after the end of the world. 9pm  
The Ritz. Interior.**

Aziraphale was nervous. So, he did what he had always done when nerves overtook him. He chatted aimlessly. It just so happened it was about the state that Hell was in.  


He had expected it to be awful. It _was_ Hell, after all. But he had also expected something more. Something else, rather. Humans went on about the fires of Hell and pits of boiling sulphur and the never-ending torment.  


There was no talk of flickering lights, or leaky pipes, or crowded rooms stacked with boxes containing God knows what. Well, _Satan_, in this particular case. There was no talk about how damp the place was.  


He pointed this all to Crowley. Crowley didn’t pay particular mind. 

He couldn’t blame the demon. It was quite possible his own experience back in Heaven had turned out to be just as unpleasant. He wondered how a trial in Heaven might look like. There had never been one before. Not even with the Fall. They didn’t gather up all the rebellious angels and make a proper proceeding out of it all. They just Fell. What if he didn’t have a trial at all? It was entirely possible. Gabriel seemed to run the place, nowadays, without any direct orders from God for millennia. 

He thought about the Flood. And Sodom and Gomorrah. Lot’s wife. The plight against Egypt. The Holy crusades. And then the Black Plague. That had been seen as God’s will, punishing mankind for all their sins, all over again. Had it been though? God’s will? Or was it just a pack of power-craving angels messing with humanity and causing an immense amount of suffering?

He found his mind wandering back to Venice in 1348. Crowley had taken the whole thing very badly. He was in a state Aziraphale had never before seen him in. He hadn’t even sought the demon out but there they were, regardless. Crowley was staying at the Contarini Palace, because, of course he was. Trust a demon to sneak his way into the houses of the high and mighty. He had been summoned by Stefano Contarini himself, the renowned Procurator of San Marco to tend to his ill guest. Although ‘ill’ was not the term that was used. ‘Blasphemous’ was what the nobleman had said at the time. And even if he cherished his house-guest, he was not about to fall from the grace of the good old Catholic Church for entertaining such behaviours. So, he called a monk. 

Aziraphale was, at the time, a monk. Or posing as one.

The minute he had laid eyes on Crowley his faith seemed to waver a little.

‘Angel’ Crowley mumbled when he heard the door. He was drunk. Not just drunk. Utterly hammered. The Black Death was not something he appeared to take in lightly.

‘Do you think She’s happy?’ Crowley drawled in a raspy voice. Probably from all that shouting and blaspheming the nobleman had warned Aziraphale about. 

‘D’ya think She had this planned, all along?’

Aziraphale drew nearer to the large canopy bed that Crowley was sprawled over. He would never question God, obviously, but this was a rather large loss of life altogether. Crowley would always get cross when either of their sides decided to do that, but was, for some reason, all the more cross when God was the one imparting the punishment. Despite being Fallen, he still maintained a little trust in Her. So, whenever genocides that would be carried out in Her Name occurred, he would always be sad. 

This however was not sad. This was something else entirely. His head dangled limply off the edge of the bed, his eyes glazed over, whether from the alcohol, or crying, or both, the angel didn’t know. His hair was a mess, his clothes were a mess and the expression he bore was so haunted, so gut-wrenchingly desperate that Aziraphale’s heart broke in half.

He drew near the bed and sat down very carefully as to not scare the demon away. They hadn’t seen each other since the last crusade and that had not been a walk in the park for either of them. _Not that walks in the park had been even invented yet_. Crowley seemed to have put the whole thing to rest, or forgot about it, or forgave the angel for his abhorrent behaviour, for as soon as he sat down on the edge of the bed, he buried his face between the sheets and the side of Aziraphale’s thigh and started sobbing. 

Aziraphale’s mind wandered even further back, remembering quite a similar situation back in Alexandria, but with the roles reversed. The demon had been there for him back then, so he would be here for Crowley now.

He cupped Crowley’s face in his hands and motioned him to put his head in his own lap. Then he started carding his hands through his hair. Crowley stopped sobbing at some point or other, silent tears just running down his face.

‘I don’t think this is Her doing, my dear. For all the pats on the back they give themselves Upstairs.’

This was treasonous talk, but Aziraphale thought they might have overdid it a bit, this time.

‘I hope you’re right,’ the demon answered, an eternity later. He was tired. Drained. The angel could plainly see it. Emotionally, physically, in all the ways that made his immortal soul want to sleep for a thousand years.

‘I think you should rest. I’ll keep vigil.’

Against what, he didn’t say. Could not properly put into words. So he continued stroking Crowley’s hair as the demon drifted slowly to sleep. 

He kept his word and kept watch throughout the night, looking down at the demon in his lap and wondering, almost in prayer, what had such a gentle soul ever done to deserve to Fall. He never doubted Her. Well, he tried _not to_, anyway. But there were moments when he doubted Heaven. And those moments seemed to be increasing by the day.

When the first beams of sunlight started filtering in between the curtains, he shifted in place, put a soft cushion underneath Crowley’s head and made sure he was properly tucked in under the heavy blankets before he took off.

He knew this was something that Crowley would want to sleep off, so a ‘don’t mind me’ miracle set upon the whole wing of the palace put in place, he made his way towards the Grand Canal. He was an angel after all and, furthermore, one bearing the cloak of the Catholic Church in a time of crisis. He would soothe as many souls and perform as many miracles as he saw fit, _Gabriel be damned_.

The thought came and went quite suddenly and, here he was again, in the present, dining at the Ritz and Crowley seemed very far off. Probably musing over his experience in Heaven. He kept on chattering absentmindedly, only to wipe away that forlorn expression off Crowley’s face.

It didn’t work. Aziraphale wanted to scream. But that would be very out of character. _Screaming_, that is. Wanting to scream was very in character and had been for a while now. It was not something proper angels did. _Or maybe it was_, he had no idea anymore.  


Crowley paid the bill because _of course_ he did. Why he kept insisting on doing that, Aziraphale had no idea. Money was a trivial affair when angels and demons were concerned.

The drive back to his bookshop was not entirely out of character - 100 miles per hour being quite common when it concerned the demon - but it felt different somehow. For all intents and purposes Crowley was staring straight ahead, but Aziraphale could feel he wasn’t focused on the road at all. Maybe it was a string of angelic miracles that kept them safe, or maybe it was the Bentley caring for her own well-being, but it certainly wasn’t Crowley’s driving. He crossed six red lights in a row and caused quite a lot of crashes. Aziraphale did a number of small blessings on all the people involved. No injuries, no real expensive-to-fix damage to their cars, and all of that. 

Then the Bentley drew to a halt.

The demon looked suddenly very out of place. Like he could not bear to stay there even for a moment longer. Which was unfortunate because all Aziraphale wanted to do was invite him inside. Maybe forego his usual spot in the armchair and sit by Crowley’s side on the couch. Hands touching. Grasping. Fingers intertwined. Or maybe he could stroke the demon’s silky hair, just like he had done in Venice. Well, not _just like that_. That was comforting a friend in need. Now it would be a whole other thing entirely. If this was even a thing Crowley wanted. Right now it didn’t seem like this was the case. He would try his luck, anyway.

He opened his mouth to invite him inside.

‘See you later, angel.’

He quickly closed his mouth, and then opened it again in close succession. He got out of the car as soon as those words were uttered, for fear that tears would run freely down his cheeks if he was to spend a minute longer there next to Crowley who just…_just what exactly_? Just left. He didn’t even manage to close the door behind him as he heard tires screeching on the pavement outside.

He was trying to come to terms with just what exactly had gone wrong from the moment they switched back bodies to this one. _Was it something he said?_ Although Crowley didn’t seem to pay any particular attention to what he was saying throughout the evening. That hurt a little.

This, on the other hand hurt _quite a lot_.

Maybe that was the end of it all. He had been a helpful ally. A means to an end. And now, Apocalypse averted and the world saved, Crowley would have no use for him anymore. He had said no to Crowley so many times before that it was more than understandable if he wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

Why had he been such a coward? The fear of Heaven? He couldn’t be bothered with that. The fear of what Hell would do to Crowley if they found out about him fraternising with the enemy? He had lied to himself that that was the reason for so many times he started to believe it.

That wasn’t it either. It was the fear that if he did anything about it, stepped even an inch in that direction, he would never be able to stop. Never have quite enough. Be greedy, and demanding and maybe overstepping his welcome and surely that would drive Crowley away. It was the opposite that did in the end, didn’t it?

_‘I’ll give you a lift, anywhere you wanna go.’_

That seemed a lifetime ago. It was actually, if humans were concerned. What would have happened if he had said yes then? Was it him saying no that time and all the other times what did it? What made him feel like his heart had been ripped out of his chest? It must have been.

_Evil plants the seeds of its own destruction._

And he supposed he was pure evil to toy with Crowley’s emotions so. To deny himself the chance. To say no _over and over_ when all he ever wanted was to say _yes, oh please, God, yes, I love you more than anything on this blasted Earth_.

He supposed he’d never get the chance now. It was not like Crowley would want to speak to him again, he reasoned just as the telephone started ringing.

He glanced at the old grandfather clock. It was past eleven at night. There was only one person that could call at this particular hour. _Demon_, that is. _Could it be?_

He wiped off the tears and headed for the phone trying to clear his voice at the same time. 

‘Oh, hello, my dear,’ he said, pouring as much love as he was capable of into those words. 

‘Um, hi,’ he heard a female, not-at-all demonly voice from the other end.

He sighed.


	13. God works in mysterious ways. This time, from a bench in Berkeley Square

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have a God chapter, people! It's a short chapter, sort of a demo for the next one. Which is also going to be a God chapter. And will feature Raphael. Who is not Crowley. Not in this fic, at least. So, yay for OC Raphael!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't want to be blasphemous - albeit I don't much care for organised religion - and I really don't want to rub people the wrong way. But given the Good Omens universe and the picture they painted in regards to God, I really don't think this is out of character. So I just picture Her as an all-around loving being, if only, just a tad, disorganised. She means well, but She doesn't have a proper calendar set up with all the important stuff jotted down.

**Sunday. One day after the end of the world. 5pm  
Berkeley Square. Exterior.**

The Square itself wasn’t very crowded this time of day. A couple of passers by, at best, and they were all too engrossed in conversation or their mobile devices respectively, to pay any particular notice to the two very mismatched people sitting down on the bench in the middle of it. 

One was dressed in a very punk-rock fashion for the prim and proper position he assumed while the other seemed to have escaped some Edwardian-era-fair but was sporting an all-body sprawl, legs spread at any odd angle.

A couple of benches away there was a young mother, breastfeeding. At some point or other she got an earful from a middle-aged couple for doing that. She paid no mind. It was usually best to ignore comments like that. She paid little mind to anything else, ethereal and occult entities changing form a couple of feet away from her being part of that.

Another couple of benches away an old man was mesmerised by a book. His eyes roamed the pages with fascination, but that wasn’t to say he was not paying attention to what happened around him. It certainly looked like that to anyone who would throw him even a side glance, but it wasn’t the case this time in particular. He would most definitely go to the young lady and whisper a word of support. But that was for later. Right now, his focus was on the previously mentioned pair.

He was tall and well built and sported an impressive white beard. If you were a Tolkien fan, his look would have screamed ‘wizard’. If you were, instead, a visitor at the Vatican and had at any point lifted your gaze to the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, it would have screamed something else entirely. _Hah, that had been a laugh._

The demon had been wrong about no one paying attention. Here the old man was, doing exactly that. But even demon powers function to a fault, especially when beings like the man on the bench were involved. 

The couple got up and went for dinner. The old man stayed on the bench for a little while longer.

It had all turned up alright in the end. Not that the old man had any doubt it wouldn’t. She was just a tad disappointed in Gabriel and the lot. She thought they knew better. Had hoped, at least. There would be a strongly worded memo. _Oh, She always forgot to actually send those in_. She’ll make a mental note to actually send one this time. She was properly crossed.

She then got up and sauntered over to the young lady and told her in a loving, grandfatherly way, that there was nothing wrong with what she was doing and the couple from earlier were dim-witted fools.

She then proceeded to walk along the Thames, taking in the sights. She hadn’t been in England since the time of the Restoration and She quite liked what they had done with the place. She was quite curious about The Eye. Certain that people from Downstairs came up with that, but curious, nonetheless.

Not that the Fallen didn’t produce their fair share of wondrous things. They were of angel stock, after all. She was particularly cross about that. Realised She hadn’t sent _that_ memo, either. But the Universe was such an amazing creation, _even if She said so Herself_ – one could always appreciate Their own work, thank you very much – that She never seemed to find the time do do any proper desk job. But they had to be put in place at some point or other, the lot of them. Otherwise the Next One would surely be the Last One as well. And She really really didn’t want that. 

There had had to be a Fall, that much was obvious, but She thought She would have handled it a bit differently were She there at the time. Unfortunately, She was not. She was admiring the stars at that particular point. Even metaphysical beings of immense power could not always be bothered with the timing of things. She had planned a Fall from the very beginning, even informed the Archangels about it. She had never thought it would have been that cruel, though. She had hoped it wouldn’t be, at least. Angels, Her most perfect creation – or at least, that was how they saw themselves – massively screwed up that one. 

They were not, of course, Her most perfect creation, but a prototype. A test, if you want. Humanity was though. Good and Evil, two sides of a coin really, and, in between, the freedom of choice. 

She thought about Lucifer. She didn’t much like the way the Fall had happened. Leave it to the other Archangels to botch that up so monumentally. But she did enjoy him having a rebellious son of his own. He could learn a thing or two from that. _See how that feels_.

Then She thought about Crowley. She was particularly sad about him Falling. But She needed him to. One of the two of them. _No, it had to be Crowley_. Aziraphale was too much of a bastard to still believe in Her so profoundly once he was on the other side.

She needed them both there at the end. And they had both played their parts masterfully. _Well, not that they did much, both of them a walking disaster_, but She wouldn’t have it any other way. 

It was actually Crowley praying to Her so intently and openly that had snapped Her out of the haze She was in, while admiring the moons of Jupiter. 

_Oh shit_, the Apocalypse was about to unfurl and She had lost track of time, yet again.

But then nothing much happened. And She guessed She had to thank Adam as much as the two of them. She made another mental note to talk to the boy at some point or other since he seemed such a bright young lad and chose to keep the world going despite everything. 

She was nearing The Eye at this point and she took the long queue in with quite a fond expression. Leave it to humanity to find ways to make life difficult for themselves without any particular reason. _Amazing._

She frowned a bit as She took Her place in line. Of course, She could will it to part ways, or disappear entirely, but She rather liked doing things the human way, when possible.

There was something not even the Ineffable Plan had accounted for. She could feel it wash over Her in waves as She examined the two of them sitting on the bench without lifting the old man’s eyes from the book. She didn’t much need eyes, anyway. She just needed to pay attention. And, for a long while, She had busied Herself with other things. 

Of course She was everywhere and She knew and saw and heard everything. But usually it would just be background noise. She didn’t have the patience or the attention span to focus on everything all at once. Only on what She thought worthy of Her attention.

And this was.

_The two stupid buggers had fallen in love._

That had nothing to do with the Ineffable Plan. It didn’t have anything to do with _any_ plan, come to that. But they had gone and done it regardless. She hoped they would figure it out at some point or other, neither of them seeming very competent. If not, there was nothing a little divine intervention couldn’t solve.

She didn’t much want to intervene. It was not something She usually did. She actually had a very strict policy about that. It was about free will and all of that nonsense. But 6000 years was a bit much even for God Herself. She would give them a couple of years and then, if they continued being as blind as they were, She would say something.

Until then, She should go and visit Raph. They haven’t seen each other in more than fifty years. That was nothing when it came to God Herself, but it was a lot when it came to bitching about stuff, be it divine, or otherwise.

She took in Her reflection in the glass pods of The Eye and smirked to Herself with a face that screamed Michelangelo’s masterpiece.


	14. Barcelona is always nice, this time of year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which God enjoys a dessert in a cup and Raphael is being a bit of a dick. In proper angelic fashion like we've seen all the other angels.

**Monday. Two days after the end of the world. 7pm  
Barcelonetta. Exterior.**

‘I really thought I would find you in Italy,’ a haughtily looking teen with bubblegum pink hair announced with a pout.

Sure, God didn’t much do pouts, but corporeal forms tended to do as they saw fit.

The corporeal form of the teen sat opposite a fair-haired, 30-year-old looking utter beauty. Or that was what the bachelorette party two tables across thought.

He was amazing, blonde curls cascading to his shoulders and green eyes bearing down on their souls.

Archangel Raphael was not, and had not at any point been, anything short of divine.

He was aware of the fact. She was also aware of the fact.

He was one of Her most loving children. And as such, he had, at some point given Heaven the Big Old Finger and came to reside down on Earth.

She didn’t forget to send the memo that time. No one was to disturb him. No one was to intervene in whatever it was he was doing.

He had never before crossed pathways with Aziraphale while they were down on Earth, but he had, at some point, crossed paths with Crowley.

He said as much.

‘You know, he called Me a bitch?’

‘Well, You were, at some point or other. Especially regarding the likes of him. The whole Fall thing was a bit much.’

‘If I wanted heartfelt confessions, I would have gone to him directly,’ the bubblegum pink haired youth intoned.

‘You always come for honest opinions. Why should this be anything that differs from the norm?’

‘Because they differ, Raph. They fell in love.’

‘_Oh_.’

‘Oh, indeed.’

‘That’s very unheard of.’

‘I know.’ God hailed a waiter and ordered what could only be described as dessert in a cup, although the term 'saccharine monstrosity' came to mind. It had sprinkles on top. 

Raphael cocked up an eyebrow as he took a sip of his Sangria.

‘What? It comes with the body. They all have their own particular urges. It’s quite frustrating.’

Raphael sighed. This was not a conversation he should be having with a teenage, angsty version of God. 

She pulled out Her tongue at him.

‘What do You plan on doing about it?’

‘Nothing much. Observe. Maybe a nudge in the right direction if they don’t figure it out by themselves. You know I’m not big on getting involved. It rather spoils the fun.’

‘Well, this time You could have. Gotten involved. I’ve heard about what happened, You know? Upstairs. Downstairs too, but I expected as much from them. Not very sporting. Although, I suppose, that’s why I left in the first place.’

‘I’m going to have a word with them. I think it’s long overdue.’

‘Gabriel’s being a dick,’ Raphael mumbled, sibling rivalry not yet forgotten.

‘Gabriel’s always been a dick. That’s the point. He had you to keep him in check but you said _sod that_ and here We are,’ She said as She slurped on the sugary extravaganza through a straw and somehow managed to smear whipped cream on half of Her face.

‘You can’t spring this on me. I had no idea they were going to do that. You did.’

‘I did, yes. I also knew they’re going to escape just fine. Look, Raph, this isn’t a game of tossing the blame around. What’s done is done. How was it you found out, though? You haven’t been Upstairs in ages.’

‘I still have connections. They’re not all bad. Just the ones in charge.’

She frowned a bit. It was obvious what he was implying. That She should have been in charge instead of letting them all run amok. She didn’t want to be in charge. _Never did_. That had been the point of creating Angels in the first place and humanity in the second. She just wanted to observe. But apparently all of Her creations had this strange idea that She should be the one who captained the ship. _Sod that._

‘How did you meet Crowley? You’ve never said before.’

She could, of course, summon that particular memory out from the space between atoms, from the slow, winding river that was time itself. But She liked doing things the human way whenever She deemed it fit to roam the Earth.

‘Before or after the Fall?’ the corner of his lip curled up in a coy smile. He enjoyed pressing all the right, well, _wrong_, buttons. She knew that, of course, but somehow never seemed to mind much. She also knew none of the Angels remembered much of their Fallen counterparts, but didn't feel the need to point that out either.

‘After, Raph. Let’s not play silly buggers.’

‘It was in Italy. Florence, actually.’

She hummed. She knew how much Raph simply adored Italy. She was partial to it Herself. The food and the wine and the art. _Especially the art_. She had a clue about how this little encounter had gone.

‘It was in 1504. A bright young lad had just arrived in Florence and I felt the need to guide him. But I think You know that already. He took an instant liking to me. Even saw fit to name himself after me. _Well_, not quite. A slight variation of his own name, but he said mine sounded more posh.’

She giggled. _Posh, of course it sounded posh, he was an Archangel, after all._

‘I had already done quite a bit of work when the boys in Perugino’s workshop were involved. Posed as a doting patron and spent quite a lot of time with the apprentices. Did a blessing here and there. Those boys were terrified, let me tell You. He was a harsh bastard, never any word of praise or anything. So, when I heard that another one of them left Perugia and arrived in Florence, I wanted to meet him, maybe comfort him for all his years of brash critiques and being told he was never good enough. I expected him to be a meek little thing, scared even by his own shadow. He was anything but that. I remember I laughed and laughed thinking about how a mere seventeen-year old had managed to break the high and mighty Pietro Vannucci.’

‘He was a bit of a nasty one, wasn’t he? Though his school produced some of the best paintings in the world.’

‘All thanks to me, just so you know.’

‘I _do_,’ She smiled the most dotingly, motherly smile She could muster as a fussy sixteen-years-old. _Whoever said God didn’t have any favourites had been partaking in the exact same substances as whoever said God didn’t play any games_. They were very dangerous and very illegal substances that caused quite a fair amount of hallucinations all around.

‘_So_, Crowley?’

‘Ah, yes. We were in a pub. I was entertaining Rafael with some stories from ancient Rome. He just thought I was a mighty scholar, had no idea I had been there to witness that whole Cesar nonsense. And then, out of the blue, I start feeling demonic energy around. And I thought to myself, _that’s it_, Gabriel must have informed Downstairs about my presence on Earth and they sent someone to kill me. I was actually preparing quite a harsh string of words that I would yell at the bastard the minute I got discorporated and arrived back at Headoffice.’

‘What is it with you two? You’ve been at each other’s throats from day one. Even before that, actually.’

‘Well, he’s a dick.’

‘You’ve said.’

Raphael sipped some more Sangria, realised the glass was empty and quickly miracled it full again. For his part, he could say it from now until the real end of days continuously and on repeat and it wouldn’t do what he was feeling towards the fucker proper justice. He decided to let it drop.

‘So, there I was, fearing for the safety of my corporeal form – you know in all these years I’ve always kept it in fit condition,’ he said proudly. The bachelorette party of ten could attest to that. More than several dozens of painters could attest to that. He was not above vanity himself, not while looking like that, so even Raphael himself could and would attest to that.

_What was it with her angelic children and their proneness to committing the seven big ones?_ Not that She was upset, more like curious. And a tad amused at the irony of it all. 

There was Raphael and Pride. She supposed he had every reason to be proud about himself, She was as well. But, more often then not, it drifted to simple, proper Vanity. 

Gabriel and Greed. He had been a power-hungry Angel since the very beginning, always wanting more and more till he reached the point where he had all of it and still was insatiable.

Michael and Envy. At Gabriel from time to time. At Aziraphale in the last days. Always wanting what others had and trying to screw them over to feel better about herself.

Sandalphon and Wrath. She still cringed when She thought back to Sodom and Gomorrah. That had been a horrid affair. Too bad She was in Australia at the time.

And of course, Aziraphale and Gluttony. Although She could hardly blame him for that. Here She was, enjoying a cup of sweety goodness that any particular sporty person might have to exercise for a week after to burn the calories off.

‘So, fear for my safety at the back of my mind to keep the anger towards Gabriel company,’ Raphael couldn’t refrain himself from another little jab, ‘the door of the pub swung open and there Crowley was, walking in, waving his hands around as he explained something to Leonardo. You know, for all of his artistic merits, I never liked the fellow. I always thought that it was because he was a vainglorious knob, at least before that particular encounter. I then thought for a brief moment it was because of the demonic interference. But then Rafael perked up like a schoolgirl meeting her favourite rock star and quite adamantly waved them over to sit at our table. I didn’t even have time to protest. They sat down and Crowley eyed me with a loaded glare. I thought I had been spotted, for sure, but then he turned towards Rafael and started chatting him up. I just stood there, flabbergasted to have a demon at my table while the demon in question did nothing to strike me down. Then it dawned on me that the demon couldn’t sense me back like I did him.’

This was said with a slightly cocked eyebrow that made it clear for Her that he was silently judging. _The demon couldn’t feel me because he was denied God’s love so he couldn’t feel the waves of love washing off of Her divine emissaries either._

‘Yeah, well,’ God intoned in proper teenage fashion.

‘The thing that struck me the most about the whole thing was how natural he felt. I mean, demonic energy aside, he didn’t feel particularly evil. He was just there, as much as I was, enjoying the sights and the art and the wine. He did quite a fair share of enjoying the wine, let me tell you. _Quite the alcoholic_, I thought at the time. Although, to be fair, I would have been as well, if I was to Fall.’

This also merited a raised eyebrow expression thrown to God. She shrugged.

‘He introduced himself and I thought to myself, well, _bugger me for a lark_, I'm sitting at the same table as the demon who performed the first temptation. I said I was signor Neri. I thought giving my real name away would be quite the hint, nevermind the humans’ propensity to name themselves after us. And he went on and on about the paintings. I couldn’t find it in me to hate him. Actually, I thought him altogether quite interesting.’

He left that in the air as a dare, expecting a reprimand.

There was none, of course.

‘Why shouldn’t you?’ She asked trying, and failing, to get the waiter’s attention. That went to prove that even if you were God Herself, waiters were something else entirely, and, if they so chose, you would never get to order what you wanted. It was just out of the kindness of their hearts that they chose to pay attention to you in the first place.

‘What do You mean, _why shouldn’t I_? He’s a _demon_.’

‘A demon that fell in love with an Angel, Raph. And anyway, you were the one pointing out shit about the Fall earlier, poking holes in the whole Plan. So, what if he’s a demon? I never said Angels were not to interact with demons. That was something you lot made up.’

‘Ugh,’ Raphael said eloquently. He knew what ‘you lot’ meant. _It meant Gabriel and the guys_.

‘Well, he didn’t seem particularly nasty and You’ve always said curiosity was a good thing,’ he continued, being fully aware that both times that curiosity had proven something important enough to write home about had ended in tragedy. ‘So we spent the night drinking and talking about art. I realised at the end of the evening that Leonardo was a vain son-of-a-bitch all on his own and Crowley had nothing to do with that. He was just attracted by the nastiness. And probably the amazing art as well, I suppose.’

At this point in time it should be clear to the reader that neither of the angels were necessarily good people. And that when they hated something, or someone, they would point it out, quite vehemently.

‘You know, it always struck me as rather odd what he said to me at the end of the evening.’

‘Mhm,’ was all God said as She managed eventually to gather the waiter’s attention. Another sugary monstrosity was ordered, this time in pink.

‘He said, _‘You know, you remind me a bit of my Angel’_. Had no idea what he was talking about at the time. Couldn’t phantom Angels and demons being friends, never mind getting together. But I suppose it all makes sense now. The bit about ‘his Angel’ always stuck around. He had said it with such reverence I thought he was actually praying to you.’

‘He was, I guess. Not at that particular point, but he prayed to Me quite diligently over the ages.’

‘Why did he Fall, then? All part of that masterful Plan?’

‘Yes, actually. I needed him for the bit at the end. Not the End _end_. But that was only because he was there. Because they both were.’

‘Did we know each other? You know. Before.’

She didn’t want to bring about any painful memories. And Raphael was one of the most loving Angels She had created. As was Crowley, before his Fall. She shouldn’t have brought any of this up in the first place. She shrugged, yet again.

‘You did. I’d rather not bring about that set of memories. It would be bad for everyone involved.’

He knew better than to question Her about that. _Oh, he questioned in general_, it was part of their little game. But judging by how all-around nice Crowley was as a demon, he didn’t even want to consider him in Angel form. It would probably make him very _very_ sad. 

‘Alright then. What’s the Plan?’

‘I was thinking about going back to London. See how they’re fairing. This might prove altogether interesting. And you know how I feel about interesting.’

‘I am aware, yes. All that stuff about free will and all of that. A strike of divine genius.’

‘Oh, shush, you,’ She said but smiled anyway. He always knew how to stroke Her ego just right.

‘Do you want a companion for the ride?’

Her eyes lit up. She would always want Raph along for the ride.

Then they had to wait for another thirty minutes to get the check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, we have an OC character. Love him or hate him, you can all yell at me in the comments about it. I actually enjoyed writing this chapter very much and I hope you all like it as well.


	15. I've loved you for a thousand years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That song is altogether too on the nose to not be mentioned before the Big Date that's going to be figured in the next chapter. Not to spoil anything and all of that, but nothing much reaching a conclusion-wise happens there. I feel it's better if I spoil it from the very beginning rather than leave you hanging. This, folks, is going to be a *very* slow burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for saying the last chapter would have been updated yesterday - I have a shit week at work so I think none of the chapters will be updated properly - that means daily. So even if I plan to post something whenever I see fit, it might just happen to be postponed one day or two, me having to go on trips all around the country with no proper internet connection.

**Monday. 2 days after the end of the world. 9am.  
A.Z.Fell&Co.. Interior.**

Aziraphale was bound to have paced a hole in his carpet by now. He had started pacing just after Anathema had hung up and continued to do so for a solid hour. _Why did everyone just assume things about them?_ Things he very much wished to be true, but were, however, not. And it pained him terribly to have to explain over and over how they were not together, when that was the only thing that he ever wanted them to be.

He needed to think of something else. Clear his head, as it were. _Reading_. He had always enjoyed reading. It always seemed to distract him from whatever metaphorical demons were plaguing his mind. So he made his way to the nearest shelf and picked a book at random. It didn’t even matter what it was, he had perused over all of them so many times he almost knew them all by heart.

He sat down in his ancient armchair and opened it at random.

_Send me some token that my hope may live,_  
_Or that my easelesse thoughts may sleep and rest;_  
_Send me some honey to make sweet my hive,_  
_That in my passion I may hope the best._  
_I beg no ribbond wrought with thine own hands,_  
_To knit our love in the fantastick straine_  
_Of new-toucht youth; nor Ring to shew the stands_  
_Of our affection, that as that’s round and plaine,_  
_So should our loves meet in simplicity;_  
_No, nor the Corrals which thy wrist infold,_  
_Lac’d up together in congruity,_  
_To shew our thoughts should rest in the same hold;_  
_No, nor thy picture though most gracious,_  
_And most desir’d, because best like the best;_  
_Nor witty Lines, which are most copious,_  
_Within the Writtings which thou hast addrest._  
_Send me nor this, nor that, t’increase my store,_  
_But swear thou thinkst I love thee, and no more._

_Of course it had to be Donne_. There was no one else in his entire collection who managed to pen down his own thoughts quite as masterfully. Who managed to write of love so sincerely and openly and, at times, with the same desperation that he himself was feeling. He had been so glad when the Grierson edition appeared with Donne’s collected works. Had tried so hard over the years to gather them all up as a whole. Sure, Browning and Pope had done their best to promote his work, but that 1912 edition was what gathered them all up together. Out of his entire body of collected works, it stood to reason that he managed to pick up that particular book. _Irony be damned._

He put the book down and started pacing yet again. He figured that, whichever tome he was going to pick up, the end result was going to be the same. He would just over-analyse the whole thing, his mind being too filled with conflicting thoughts to be properly able to read anything anyway.

He paced some more.

His thoughts fired in each and every direction, some at a million years of light-speed, only to bounce back time and time again. He loved Crowley. _Truly. Deeply. With all his heart_. Crowley also _cared_ for him, of that he was certain. But what if what he was planning on doing, what he very much wished to do but was terrified of the very notion, would drive a wedge between them and force them apart? 

Maybe Crowley only wanted a friend. Hell had been such a vile place he fought back shudders. He had brushed it off easily enough in front of the demon, at least. 

_‘I made Michael miracle me a towel.’_

_‘I asked for a rubber duck.’_

_‘The pipes leaked.’_

_‘They weren’t looking particularly appealing. The walls, I mean.’_

He phrased it as a joke and shrugged it off as some extended family get-together with that particularly nasty racist uncle and that great-aunt that sweated a lot but kept on wanting to hug everyone nonetheless thrown in the mix.

Heaven was a cold and empty place. _Nowadays_, at least. But Hell, _well_, Hell was something else entirely. It didn’t matter that it was cold. Or damp. Or crowded. It didn’t matter the floors were sticky or that the lights were flickering all the time.

He was an angel, so by all intents and purposes, he shouldn’t be able to feel any of that, but maybe being stuck inside a demon’s corporation played its hand in that. He could feel it everywhere around him. _Despair, self-loathing, anger, hate, loneliness, disillusionment._ It seeped and leaked from everywhere so potent and pungent everything physically reeked of it. 

If that was where Crowley went every time he had to visit Headoffice, then of course he needed a friend. Of course he felt lost and unloved and unforgivable and maybe he just needed a stable presence at his side to tell him everything was going to be alright in the end. Someone who would be there when those horrible thoughts managed to make their way from Downstairs to Crowley’s mind and who would listen and help him fight them back. Maybe this was all there was to it. He didn’t want to push. He just wanted to be there, in any capacity the demon wanted him to.

If it would only be dinners at the Ritz, then so be it. Feeding the ducks in Saint James’ or lazy nights in the bookshop. Whatever Crowley wanted. He had pushed back and said 'no' so many times that it felt somehow wrong for him to start pushing forwards and saying 'yes'. It felt like he would toy with Crowley’s emotions in such a cruel way that he would be no better than his fellow demons.

He wanted more, _of course he did_. But after six thousand years of pulling the brakes, he thought it best if he let Crowley stir this, _whatever this was_, in whichever direction he saw fit. And at his own pace, come to that.

It was at this particular point in time that the clock stroke nine in the morning. Had he really been fretting all night?

_No matter._

A thought started forming in his head. And it felt right. He would initiate something, since Crowley always seemed to follow his lead. It would just be an innocent invitation. Maybe for a stroll, or for dinner. Or that picnic he had promised the demon all those years ago. _You go too fast for me, Crowley._

_Damn, stupid bugger._

He could have had anything his heart desired and he just said no. He had seen the hurt expression on Crowley’s face, sunglasses or no. And he just got up and left. _How could he ever forgive himself that?_

He would never again do that. Never presume and never deny. He would just offer the demon the chance, if he ever wished to take it. An invitation here and there. Things he could always say no to. And if he indeed said yes, then Crowley would be the one to guide the thing however he saw fit.

He made a beeline for the phone and, only when he picked it up, realised it was not even twelve hours from when they saw each other last. It would seem desperate. No, that didn’t much matter. _It would seem forceful and demanding_. He could at least wait for a day.

They had spent entire centuries when they didn’t see each other. _Why did a day seem so long now?_

He would wait, nonetheless. And if that meant having to change his two-hundred-years-old carpet that he most definitely drilled a hole in, then so be it.

He would wait until the next day at lunch. That seemed fitting enough. Not to early, not too late.

He would call and be met with that Godawful answering machine, but Crowley always picked up when he called in the end, so that would be that.

He had been given six thousand years of wasted time on Crowley’s part. He could undoubtedly give him a day. A hundred days. A hundred years. Eternity even.

However long Crowley saw fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love John Donne and, even if the oldish English is a bit tiresome at times, I highly recommend giving him a read


	16. Sloth isn't such a bad thing in small doses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I lied. You know, like a liar. I'm still not happy with how the Crowley&Aziraphale chapter turned up so I'm trying to rewrite some of it. So have another Anathema short chapter instead.  
Bring on the hate, people.

**Monday. Two days after the end of the world. 4pm  
Broad Street. Oxford. Exterior.**

Anathema was sipping out of a whipped cream, syrup-filled, soy or coconut or almond or whatever other not-particularly-prone-to-producing-milk vegetable everyone thought was the norm this week monstrosity that people insisted on calling coffee while Newt had gone for the more honest option which had been tea. _Of course it was bloody tea_, what did she expect? _She should really try getting a hang of that at some point or other if she wanted to continue living here_, she strongly suspected.

They were at a small corner cafe and were sat down in amiable silence. Newt had his nose buried in today’s newspaper and she couldn’t help a grin. It had been years and years since she actually last saw someone reading an actual newspaper. She found it altogether adorable.

She had taken the New Prophecies with her and was examining them idly, not with a particular interest to solve any of them, more like get a general vibe about things. 

_They should have gone to London_. Newt had said as much. She actually wanted to visit Aziraphale and hand the blasted thing over. But there was that itch. That spark of curiosity that made her want to keep a hold of the Prophecies for just a tad longer. Again, not to solve anything. Maybe just have a good, proper read. Find out how the whole thing ends up in a puddle of boiling goo, so to speak.

The problem was that Newt really needed some spare clothes. She had been more than willing to let him borrow some of her shirts. And he had taken her up on the offer. It wasn’t as if she planed on doing much for the next couple of days other than lounging around the house being exactly as productive as she wanted to be. Which was not at all. She thought she had earned at least a week of lazying around on her ass after just preventing the end of the world.

The problem actually was that while they were being slothful buggers, the rest of the village went on as usual. At a quarter to ten the postman came by and started ringing the door quite insistently.

Newt had gotten up with a groan and managed to get a hold of one of Anathema’s least frilly shirts which he quickly pulled over his head and shoulders and went to open the door. Anathema grinned at that and rolled over. The thing fitted him like a glove, the skinny bastard.

The postman didn’t seem to be of the same opinion, however and had quite a choice of words to say on the subject. Stuff like queers and transvestites were mentioned and Anathema groaned.

For all the quaintness of the little village and the picture-perfect scenery she had quite forgotten people were cunts. Especially in rural settings.

So, she got out of bed in nothing but her night-gown and waddled towards the door, hair at any odd angle.

The postman’s gaze went from Newt – who indeed, painted a very particular picture, clad just in briefs and Anathema’s very tight shirt which, even if it was the least frilly of the bunch was very gauzy indeed – to Anathema, and back to Newt again.

His mouth shaped into perfect o. All previous assumptions set aside, he was now fighting very hard with himself to form new ones. Anathema liked seeing him squirm. _Hateful fucker_. She wrapped her hands around Newt’s waist and gave him a peck on the cheek, for good measure, eyes fixed on the postman the entire time.

‘Is there anything we can help you with, _sir_,’ the contempt could be washed off that last word with maybe a power hose. Possibly. On second thought, maybe not even that.

‘I have this package for your, um…miss.’

She let go of her boyfriend for a moment, signed for said package and then slammed the door in the man’s face just as he was about to say something else.

‘I really need clothes, Anathema.’

_He did, didn't he?_ She didn't want any hateful gossip spread around the village. Not if she planned to stay, at least. She didn't want old ladies and nasty busybodies like the one with the 'fatty spliffers' nonsense to spread rumours about her. Albeit, they had done exactly that from the moment she had set foot in the village. Not that she was aware of the fact.

‘I suppose. But later. Come on, let’s get back to bed,’ she whined like a pesky child.

They did indeed go back to bed. They woke up three hours later.

‘I should go to London, pick things up,’ Newt said, rolled onto his side and started toying with a lock of her hair.

‘I don’t want to go. Not just yet.’ She pointed to the nightstand where the New Prophecies seemed to occupy more space than physically possible. ‘Don’t want to give them up yet. Please?’

‘You don’t have to come. I’ll just pop over, pick up some things and be back before dinner.’

‘How do you plan on getting back so fast?’

‘Well, Dick Turpin, of course.’

She groaned. That had to be the most infuriating little inside joke she had ever heard. It was still oddly endearing, though.

‘Adorable names aside, I’m not letting you set foot in that deathtrap until it’s been properly looked at. _By a mechanic_,’ she added when she saw him getting ready to assure her that it had been looked at by him.

‘We drove it two days ago. It was fine.’

‘Yeah, at five miles an hour and before the potential end of days. Sorry if my idea of road-safety shifted a bit.’

He frowned.

‘Tell you what. Let’s pop into the village, leave the car for the day for someone to give it a proper look. It has been upside down not even two days ago, as I’m sure you are aware. That can’t be good for cars.’

Anathema had no idea what was or was not good for cars since she herself had vowed to never drive. Electric public transport and bikes were more than enough in her books. She actually made a small concession to alternative means of transport as she made her next suggestion. 

‘We could take the bus to Oxford. Have a field day. I’m sure we’ll find more than enough shops there as well. What do you say?’

_What was he to say?_Yes,_ of course it would always be ye_s, especially when she smiled at him like that.

So here they were now, surrounded by shopping bags, though to be fair, most of them were Anathema’s rather than Newt’s, enjoying an afternoon’s…well, whatever it was they both enjoyed.

At some point or other her hand found his as it was resting on the side of the teacup and absentmindedly started drawing circles with her fingers on the inside of his wrist.

He put down the paper and openly stared at her.

It took her another ten minutes to realise she was being stared at and another half of one to actually peel her eyes off the pages.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

And indeed, Newt had an odd look on his face, eyebrows caught up in a frown while a smile fought very hard to break free at the corner of his lip.

‘Just wondering what the hell did I have to do to be this lucky.’

_It was very cheesy_. Anathema found she didn't mind cheesy.

‘Oh, honey, help fight the end of the world I think about sums it up.’


	17. The Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, good people! IT's finally happening! The long awaited for - I'm just kidding - chapter with both Crowley and Aziraphale in is finally here.  
And, as is the norm, nothing much happens. Except the angel becomes slightly more liberal when it comes to terms of endearment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why this particular chapter took forever to write. I've already written some later chapters where a lot of shit goes down and it's been a walk in the park compared with this one. Had to do a lot of research theology-wise as well for those particular chapters. Yet here we are with me taking a week to upload something that's completely inconsequential.

**Wednesday. Four days after the end of the world. 10pm  
The Garden. 1am.**

The place Crowley had talked about was in Southwark on the bank of the Thames in of those modern glass buildings he knew Aziraphale secretly hated. He got a grunt when the angel had seen where they here going. Well not actually in, but rather, on. The building itself was nothing to write home about, especially not height-wise, being a meagre twenty stories tall as opposed to other office buildings like let’s say the Shard which, at some point or other, Aziraphale had declared a monstrosity and a slight to London’s skyline. Crowley had quipped something about there needing to be skyscrapers in order to have a skyline and had been swatted over the shoulder with a magazine. Then he commented that it rather looked like Sauron’s tower and didn’t the angel love Lord of the Rings? Well, then he should like this as well. At which point Aziraphale went on with it, knowing full well Crowley was only doing this to pull his strings, and explained that Sauron was the bad guy and therefore both towers in question were something he very much didn’t like. 

So, the place in question was a terrace atop the building, own private elevator and everything. And, as much as Aziraphale hated these types of buildings, he couldn’t deny the view from the circular glass elevator as they were going up was breathtaking. Crowley’s view was also breathtaking but for completely different reasons. His lip corner curled up with the ghost of a smile as he watched how the London lights danced in the angel’s eyes. They arrived too soon at their intended floor and onto the rooftop terrace proper. It was called The Garden, and Aziraphale shot him a dissaproving look, but even the angel had to agree on the aptness of the name, their own history and the implications notwithstanding. 

The roof was brimming with lush plants. There were even a dozen trees. Proper trees with roots and everything. Each table was adorned with flowers and succulents, each private nook separated with twirling ivy. And everywhere there were fairylights. Crowley at this point realised there might have been a slight hiccup in his plan. Namely, this place was very loudly screaming ‘date’. He’d only been here during the day when the atmosphere was quite different. He only suggested it to the angel because he knew he was going to make a fuss about the name. This was not at all what he had in mind for the evening. He froze.

Aziraphale, for his part, seemed quite in his element. He even went to the hostess to inquire after a table, all the while Crowley stayed glued on the spot.

‘My dear?’ broke through his dazed horror. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Mhm,’ was the best he could manage at the moment.

They were led by the young lady to a nook in the corner, overlooking the Thames. It was very romantic. He shivered at the thought.

‘My dear, are you alright?’

‘Mhm,’ he managed yet again. ‘Yeah, perfect.’

‘I was saying this is quite lovely.’

‘Well, I do have impeccable taste, after all.’

‘That you do.’

Did Aziraphale know what these little teasing remarks here and there did to him? _He had to._

‘What do you want to order, angel? You were saying something about bubbly, earlier.’

‘I could go for a bottle of Dom Perignon.’

‘You know as well as I do it’s not going to be only _one_ bottle.’

Aziraphale smirked, devilishly.

_Oh Satan, give me strength._

He was right, of course. There were four bottles. The waitress came over to inquire if they wanted anything else. _Of course they did. A fifth bottle!_ And to offer them a dessert on the house. A bottle of Dom Perignon in this fine establishment cost ten times the price it did in the supermarket. The staff had to extend such minor favours to customers who, by tipping alone, would pay the next month’s rent.

‘Oh, how quaint! I didn’t know they had a kitchen. Crowley, you could have said. I was a bit peckish, what with skipping dinner, and on your account, I might add.’

‘I didn’t know. I mostly come here for the booze. They have some very good whisky.’

He was in fact sampling the whisky in question. It paired nicely with the champagne.

‘You order for me, dear. There’s so many options I could not possibly decide.’

Crowley took the dessert menu and, after a quick one over, quite a wily thought started forming in his mind. It was aided and encouraged by its now best-friends, mister Whisky and mistress Champagne.

So, menu in hand, he went about to find the waitress.

He couldn’t fight the grin that was pulling at the corner of his lips at the idea of seeing Aziraphale’s reaction.

‘Here you go, sir,’ the waitress intoned merrily as she placed the dessert in front of Aziraphale. ‘Apple Butterscotch Crisp.’

A bark of laughter could be heard from two tables across and, although Crowley knew it in his heart of hearts that it was directed at them, it couldn’t have possibly been, right? He risked a look, regardless.

The couple at the table were apparently caught up in conversation. The man had his back towards him, but Crowley could have sworn he had seen those golden locks somewhere, at one point or other. The woman was facing them and she seemed quite obvious in her merriment, laughing so hard she had to wipe away a tear. Her skin was tan, the colour of burnt amber and her eyes were hazel with little gold flakes in them. She had a long braid that would reach her mid-back if it wasn’t draped around one of her shoulders. She sported a casual look, a loose-fitting top and a pair of torn jeans.

Her head turned towards him and caught him glaring and she winked. _Honest to God_, winked.

He couldn’t quite place a finger on it but he knew he had met her at some point or other, too. Her face - and it was a striking face - didn’t ring any bells, but something about her whole composure screamed: _You know her, you idiot!_

‘Really, Crowley? Again with the apple business?’

He knew what came next. _You go too fast for me. Oh, shit!_

‘I would think it would get a bit old by now, is all,’ Aziraphale said instead and proceeded to eat the offending apple dessert.

‘It was actually rather good,’ he acknowledged as he dabbed a napkin at the corners of his mouth. 

Crowley’s heart started beating again.

‘It never gets old, angel, that’s the point. Although I have tempted you to quite a lot of things over the years and there weren’t any apples involved, all things considered.’

Aziraphale threw him a loaded glare.

He had been too busy with the dessert in front of him to acknowledge any of the people around them. Had he though, he would have been very surprised to note that not even two tables away there was a certain Archangel dining with a certain God. And him and his demon had all their undivided attention.

‘Yes, well, I guess I haven’t been one of Heaven’s most perfect angels.’

A couple of tables away Someone snorted.

‘You’re the best angel out of the bunch. Gabriel and the rest can go fuck themselves.’

There was another snort followed quickly after by a whispered _‘I told you so’._

None of them paid them any particular mind.

‘Well, I suppose they should, all things considered.’

Crowley threw him the most devilish smile he could muster.

‘Oh, look who’s coming around,’ he intoned lazily, pleased with where this was going.

‘I never did ask how the whole thing went down. You know, Upstairs.’

_‘Oh,’_ could be heard from two tables over. _‘Oh, they were really clever buggers, weren’t they?’_ came shortly after followed by a very adamant _‘Shhhh.’_

Crowley stopped being pleased with where things were going almost instantly.

He never wanted to recount how things had gone back Upstairs. He was sick to his stomach just thinking about it.

‘You know what, angel? It’s late. Maybe we should get home. I could drive you back.’

Aziraphale frowned. This wasn’t even about Crowley’s propensity to drive while drunk. He knew the demon was keeping something from him. And he never much liked that. 

It was the same thing with the flood all over again. He could have said he was going to save those children. He didn’t object, _of course he didn’t_. He had wanted those kids saved from the get-go. But if Heaven decided that was a big no-no, then of course he would obey. _He always did_. But he had a lot of trouble keeping his thoughts from wondering about the useless carnage for quite a while. It didn’t plague his dreams, because he didn’t sleep. It instead plagued his everyday thoughts for a considerable amount of time. He thought he was about to Fall each time he thought back to it. _You shouldn’t question. You shouldn’t doubt. Just do as you’re told_. But he grieved, oh, how he grieved for that immense loss of life. Aziraphale eventually found out on his own what Crowley had done, five years later. 

Back in Alexandria he kept things from him as well when the daft fool broke one of his wings to keep him safe and kept mum about it. That had been the first time he considered his natural born enemy to actually be able of showing kindness. Not just kindness, but empathy and mercy and all the other things. Back in the days of the flood he had just brushed it off as Crowley giving the big old finger to the Almighty and thwarting Her plans instead of thinking Crowley did what he did without any ulterior motive. That was what Heaven had drilled into him from day one. Before day one. Before there were any days to talk about. 

After Alexandria, he wasn’t so certain anymore. He had never found out about the scrolls though. Would he have, the moment of epiphany he had experienced back in 1941 would have happened much, much sooner.

He would always be left out of what Crowley didn’t wish to impart on him and, be it for good or for evil, it always made his countless metaphysical wings itch. It would never be lying because Crowley never lied to him. That he could at least explain – demons lied and therefore Crowley did as well. Except he never did. Not to him, at least. It would always be painful, regardless.

‘You know what, dear? _No_. We are having this conversation and we are having it now.’

Crowley wrapped his hands around himself trying to sink in the chair as much as possible, bearing the same countenance that little kids being scolded could muster.

‘What happened Up there?’

‘Idon’twannatalkaboutit,’ Crowley replied in quick succession.

‘Crowley.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I suppose there wasn’t much of a trial to start with, but I do want to hear the particulars of it at some point or other.’

‘You _what_? Are you serious about there not being a trial? How could you even _know_ that?’

‘Well, it’s Heaven’s modus operandi. Was there a trial before the Fall?’

Crowley shivered, fighting back painful memories.

‘Is this why you’ve been keeping silent?’

‘Mhm.’

‘Because there was no trial? Oh, darling, surely you must have realised I’d know by now.’

Crowley was openly staring at him, mouth agape.

_Oh, shit. ‘Darling’ had been a little bit too much, now hadn’t it?_ He decided to ignore it and move elegantly past it. 

‘So, there was no trial. Big deal. What happened then? You know I’ve told you all about the rubber duck business.’

Crowley sat, arms crossed, for a minute or two, inspecting his boots before he answered.

‘Gabriel said that you should shut your stupid mouth and die already.’

_‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’m really going to have to punch some sense into that son-of-a-bitch - no disrespect,’_ Crowley could have heard if he was paying any particular mind. He wasn’t. ‘Darling’ swam around in his mind, occupying most of its corners and all the spaces in between.

‘Did he, now?’

‘Mhm.’

‘Well, then. Fuck him, I suppose.’

Crowley’s eyes widened to full snake ones at that.

And a couple of tables over a young lady was patting the back of her date who seemed to choke up on something.

‘You _what_?’

‘Well, I tend not to swear. But this seemed fitting. Fuck the lot of them. We’re on our side, like you said.’

Crowley found it very difficult indeed to not jump over the table and kiss the bejeezus out of his angel.

This, combined with the earlier ‘Darling’ made him sober up instantly. He knew he was the most susceptible to say the big ‘IT’ when he was drunk. _No, this was a night like any other_. He would just keep shoving it down. 

_Hadn’t this been a nice evening? Why wasn’t this enough? Why did he always have to push things to the point they would break?_ He blamed it on the whole being a demon bit that never let him have nice things and was done with it.

‘Lift home, angel?’

‘Yes, of course. Maybe you could pop in. I have a very nice Port I’ve been saving for quite sometime.’

‘Rain-check on that. I’m actually busy. Evil doings and all that.’

The check was taken care of and then they left, being none the wiser about their ethereal audience.

God sighed.


	18. Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just really wanted to mention that ridiculously thick book from the second episode so here goes.

**Friday. 6 days after the end of the world. 12am  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

Almost a week had passed. It was a Friday and Aziraphale was checking inventory like he usually did on Fridays, for who’s benefit, it was all rather unclear. 

The little bell above the door chimed and he got up from the backroom armchair to greet whoever stumbled into his shop, wish them an excellent day and point out the shop was definitely closed. He turned around a bookcase and was met with the sight of Anathema looking in awe at the stacks of books. 

‘Oh, hello dear. I’d nearly forgotten you were supposed to visit today.’

He made his way past her towards the door and locked it, making sure the closed sign was in place. Then he went back to the centre of the bookshop and guided her towards the backroom where they could have tea and biscuits without having to worry about ruining the books.

Anathema opted for an Irish coffee instead. _Very Irish_, Aziraphale noted as she poured a considerable amount of whiskey in it. She would get along with Crowley like a house on fire.

They started with some small talk about Newt. _Oh, he was gathering some of his stuff from his mum’s place._ And about Adam. _Well, they all came along for the ride, as well – I have no idea how they convinced their parents to be okay with that._ Aziraphale knew exactly how. Adam was the Antichrist, was he not? And then the angel thought it best to address the elephant in the room.

‘My dear, I actually wanted to talk with you about something you said. You know, when we spoke on the phone.’

‘Mhm,’ Anathema intoned as she took a sip of her very whisky-ated coffee. Aziraphale kept good stock.

‘You called Crowley my boyfriend.’

‘Mhm.’

‘Well, he’s not. My boyfriend, that is.’

‘Husband then. Sorry if I offended in any way.’

Aziraphale cleared his throat and blushed. Very obviously.

‘He’s not that either. We’re...friends. Of sorts.’

Anathema gave him the raised eyebrow treatment.

‘I’m not even sure I can call him that. We’ve been enemies for so long.’

‘And now you’re not.’

‘Still, my dear.’

_Still what, exactly?_ She wanted to ask him, but didn’t. She was sure a 6000 years old entity had it all figured out by now and there was some information she was not let in on. She was of course, very, very wrong. It would take a long while and a conversation with The Adversary, Killer of Kings, Ruler of the Bottomless Pit and Prince of Darkness to figure out how wrong she was altogether.

‘I’d rather you didn’t mentioned it to him,’ Aziraphale added. He was very fidgety.

Anathema wanted to point out that she had no intention of talking to the demon if the occasion didn’t particularly ask for it. He had hit her with his car, after all. There had been broken bones and a broken bike, now that she seriously thought back to the moment. The angel just undid all of that with his divine power.

At that particular moment she had thought they were just old queens. Had never thought exactly how old, or how occult. The assessment about them being queens still stood up to this day.

‘Why?’ she asked instead.

‘I don’t particularly want to embarrass him with my feelings. I’m sure they’re not reciprocated.’

Anathema eyed him doubtfully. She had heard about gay pining. Tumblr had been a thing when she was a teen, as much as it was today, after all. But this was some next level shit, right here. Azirapahle didn’t add a ‘not anymore’. Had he done that and had Anathema heard the whole story, she would have whacked Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management against his head for ten minutes straight.

‘So, about the Prophecies -’

‘Um, yeah, I have them right here.’

Anathema took another swig of her – let’s loosely call it coffee – and pulled the stack of papers from her large canvas bag.

Aziraphale took them reverently, fighting back the urge to put on a pair of white gloves.

‘This is such an honour.’

‘And an impending headache averted for me. The only other option would have been burning the whole thing. I certainly don’t want it anymore.’

Aziraphale threw her a withering look.

He regarded people who burned down books with the same contempt he reserved for particularly vile criminals.

'Gave it a read-through and I have to say it reads so much better when you don't have to make any sense of them. Almost like good fiction.'

Despite her earlier comment, Anathema seemed to be as enamoured with old books as he was. She stared longingly at the rows upon rows of prized first editions.

‘You don’t sell many of these, do you?’

‘I try my best not to, although I’m not always successful.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ Anathema said as she drained the last sip of her coffee. Shame about the books not being more available to the general public or about the whisky-heavy drink being finished so soon, Azirapahle had no idea.

‘You’re always welcome to come and read here, if you’d like. I might even go as far as,’ he fought back a small shudder, ‘lend you a book or two. But you have to promise to take excellent care of them.’

‘Of course! Nothing but the best care. I did see some Goethe first editions and a Poe book I’ve been dying to put my hands on since forever.’

Even if Anathema was a lot more tech-savvy than Newt with her tablet and her MacBook Pro - as a descendant of Agnes and also someone who realised the importance of really old books - she much preferred the real deal when she was to choose between an actual book and a Kindle. The bookshop was to her as wondrous and magical as the lost city of Atlantis had been to Adam.

Aziraphale muttered something about being played for a sucker. She smiled widely and finished replenishing her empty coffee cup with whiskey.

Crowley and her would really, really get along. And for some unexplained reason, Aziraphale very much wanted them to. Maybe they’ll all have dinner at some point.

For now he could only contemplate about what evil deeds Crowley was busying himself with whenever he wasn’t around the bookshop.


	19. An afternoon at the London Zoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley takes the Them to the zoo. It's as simple as the title card.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for next time. Some *gasp* plot happens!

**Friday. 6 days after the end of the world. 1pm.  
London Zoo. Exterior.**

Crowley’s evil deeds for the day had consisted of: yelling at Brian to not stain his car with all that grime that seemed to gravitate around him, vanish said grime, drive abysmally through London’s rush hour to the Them’s obvious merriment, make sure he paid two tickets short at the London Zoo, especially after the lady at the till commented about how wonderful he was for taking all the kids out, and summoning a large variety of ice-cream flavours for the gang. The last one he mentally excused - even if people would look upon it at sweet or kind - as making it very difficult for all of the other adults around to placate their children. _I don’t want vanilla, maaa, I want what they’re having_, was something he heard on repeat for quite some time. He congratulated himself for that. And it wasn’t because of the wide smiles the Them bore for the best part of half an hour, it was because of all the background chaos all around.

‘What do you kids want to do next?’ he asked as he spotted the nearest bin and threw the ice-cream wrapper away. He shouldn’t litter. _Well, he should_, being a demon and all that. But it would be a shame to save the world from Satan himself only to have it destroy itself because people couldn’t handle their trash disposal. He was not very well versed in environmentalist debates but he had read at some point or other that plastic was bad. Killed the fish and suchlike. Dolphins even, for all Aziraphale said they were fish as well.

‘I want to go and see the reptiles,’ Adam said.

‘Alright.’

That had been that. They were now, half an hour later in the reptile enclosure. They had passed the frogs and small lizards and even a curious iguana and were now looking at snakes.

‘So what type of snake are you, then?’ Adam asked.

‘What do you mean, what type of snake am I?’

‘Well, there’s the anaconda and the boa constrictor and the cobra,’ Wensleydale said, herpetology PhD all of a sudden. ‘Wait, what do you mean what type of snake is he? Are you a snake?’

Crowley sighed and rolled his eyes melodramatically. He had to be melodramatic in order for the eye-roll to work, taking into account the sunglasses.

‘Well, I’m certainly not your garden variety snake.’

He had to smile at that. Being the original snake back in _THE_ Garden.

‘But what do you mean you’re a snake?’ Pepper was now in on it so there was no escaping it anymore.

‘Okay, alright,’ Crowley snapped and took off his glasses. He made sure no one else was paying them any attention. It wouldn’t do to explain to security just why some of the visitors felt suddenly faint.

‘I thought those were contact lenses,’ Brian said remembering briefly how everything went down on the tarmac of the airbase. None of the Them had paid any particular mind to Crowley back then, never mind make inquires over his strange eyes.

‘They’re not.’

‘Wicked!’ the Them agreed collectively.

‘Now that’s all sorted out, let’s get moving.’

His sunglasses were in place, yet again.

‘Let’s go see the polar bears!’

They didn’t eve realise who had suggested it but it was unanimously agreed upon that they should see the polar bears as they were an endangered species. _When had the polar bears become endangered_, Crowley had no idea, but apparently it had something to do with global warming. And that, at the beginning, had quite a lot to do with himself. The industrial revolution, that was.

He had witnessed steam engines as far back as antiquity, even now remembering one of them being used to spin a shawrma at the time. Of course he didn’t pay them much attention, back then. He was not very well versed in maths and especially physics, and even if Plato had tried explaining the basics over and over again, he had just nodded and smiled and searched the agora for blond-white curls as Aziraphale was finishing his philosophical debates for the day. Then they would find a watering hole and wash away this all this unpleasant physics business.

It would be much later, almost mid-eighteenth century that the enormity of the invention hit him.

They could have machines as way of transport, instead of horses, or, even worse, carriages.

The roads were abysmal. Either sheer stone, in which case you would pray to God Almighty - or Satan respectively - to issue you a new spine by the end of the journey; or dirt that very soon turned to mud (they were in England, after all) in which case, at some point, you had to get down from the carriage and push it forward.

They invented rails at some point or other, bless them. But they didn’t use them for transportation. Not for people, at least. He had to do something about that. It was simply a waste.

Then the nineteenth-century came and went and by this point, even the humans started to realise the endless possibilities of the invention. Not just transport, but manufacturing as well would be forever changed by this coal business altogether. He felt very proud. Children weren’t needed to work anymore as everything was more efficient, faster, easier to use. Surely, in the coal business there would only be strong, burly men involved as it required a particular amount of work to carry all that stuff around.

He had a minor crisis of faith when he returned from his trip to Asia to discover that child labour was not so much something that carried on from the good old days, but something that flourished under this new and developed society. Kids were small, very good for reaching in hard to get to places. They were involved in all aspects of factory work and Crowley cursed and then cursed some more. 

_They’re fucking kids! Are you people for real?! Everything is so much easier now, you don’t need kids!_

And of course, there was all the pollution. But Crowley couldn’t be half-arsed about that at the time. Whatever mankind thought to invent that took them as further away from the fourteenth century as possible was progress in Crowley’s eyes. And then the century turned yet again and some clever buggers invented cars. And at some point decided by general consensus that child labour was bad. _Go figure!_

As enjoyable as train rides were, Crowley didn’t know there was something missing from his life until he laid eyes on the new motor vehicles. They were big, and very loud, and would go bump in the night. _Well_, they would go bump at any time they saw fit which was all the time. He would give them a few years to perfect the invention. And perfect it they did. He was staring at the 1926 Bentley with the pride of any new car owner as the salesman was telling him a lot of important things about his newly purchased vehicle that Crowley paid no attention to, such as gas consumption and maximum mileage. The whole gas business was not something he had any interest in so the Bentley decided that gas was not actually needed. As to maximum mileage, well, the Bentley was surprised to realise she didn’t have to conform to societal norms, or even car functioning norms, and the maximum speed of a hundred miles per hour was something that happened to other cars entirely.

So Crowley didn’t consider himself responsible for the pollution. Of course he had, on various occasions, whispered one thing or another in someone’s ear that made the whole progress run more smoothly. But they would have gotten there in the end, regardless of his involvement. They had a habit of doing that. And, as with any good thing they went and spoiled it for everyone.

There were, of course, a select few who made an effort to stop all that pointless consumption. The effort was amendable, but just a little too late.

They should have thought about it in the seventies and maybe invest some more in all that renewable energy nonsense that was all people talked about these days instead of reshaping their whole way of life around cars. He was not at all averse to cars, he was quite a fan. The Bentley knew this of course so maybe that’s why she played 'I’m in love with my car' at full volume on their drive to the zoo. Either that or she was just being smug. _Probably the latter_.

Crowley was however averse to mindless waste. And as someone who basically invented the concept of a completely self sustainable car – we won’t comment about the fact that this was done out of laziness rather than anything else – he had a lot of thoughts about so many species of animals being on the verge of extinction. Polar bears and rhinos and gorillas – who Aziraphale firmly believed lived in nests, the daft bugger. It would be nice to visit the zoo with the angel at some point or other if only to win the argument about the gorilla business and instruct the angel about the finer aspects of zoology. There was no ulterior motive to it, especially not spending more time with the bastard. It would definitely not be a date.

His gaze turned to Adam who was looking at him quite expectingly.

‘Sorry, what was that?’

_He had gone off on a tangent yet again, hadn’t he?_

‘We want to see the seals.’

‘You know they’re clubbing baby seals now,’ Pepper said.

‘Why would they do that?’ Crowley asked although he knew the answer was that mankind was by and large, with a few choice exceptions, entirely comprised of arseholes.

‘They just do. And they kill whales.’

‘That’s fucked up.’

‘You shouldn’t swear,’ Brian said, a little put out.

‘Why is that?’

The Them had no eloquent answer to that and, later on, upon repeating a very specific choice of words in front of their parents, would still have no valid explanation about why exactly they were reprimanded for it.

‘Let’s grab lunch first,’ Crowley said, looking at his watch. It was half past two already so the gang should be starving by now.

They all had pizza, and Crowley couldn’t blame them for that. They were, after all, eleven years old and pizza was not something you stumbled upon very often in Lower Tadfield. Then they had some more ice-cream. Crowley ordered a cheesecake that he took two bites out of and pushed it towards the centre of the table like he always did when he dined with Aziraphale, by now on muscle memory alone. Adam eyed it doubtfully for a minute or two before digging in with gusto.

And then they went and saw the seals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was actually something very similar to a steam engine used specifically for rotating shawrma sticks that dated back to antiquity. I laughed my head off when I saw it in Istanbul.


	20. I'll follow you into the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prophecies finally come into play. I know this took a while, it being longer than most fics by this point and even before reaching the exposition but I did warn you from the very beginning that it's gonna be an awful mess, so this one isn't on me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's several things I want to mention concerning this chapter.
> 
> 1\. This took forever to write and it's one of my favourite chapters I've posted so far, so yell at me in the comments about it
> 
> 2\. Old English is a pain in the arse. I know some of the words are not the actual equivalent of their Old English counterparts, but if Sir Terry took more than enough artistic liberties with just giving the impression of the language pre-Spelling Reform being used then so can I. I didn't mention Neil where the Prophecies are concerned since I am beyond certain this was all Terry. If you don't believe me, check some of the Discworld novels. Whichever one you want.
> 
> 3\. Writing the Prophecies was also a huge pain in the arse. They probably suck when compared to the original ones but such is life. Turns out I can't put myself in the mind of a 17th century witch. Who knew?
> 
> 4\. For those of you who haven't read the book, there's a wonderful piece of text that had me laughing like a madwoman that's only briefly referenced in the show and completely out of context. So I'm putting it down here for all of you to enjoy. It's about one of the rare bibles that Aziraphale loves collecting. It's called the Buggre Alle This Bible and it's downright hilarious. I really hope I don't get flagged or anything. All the rights of course belong to the brilliant Neil and Terry, I just wanted to share a bit of fictional genius. 
> 
> _The book was commonly known as the Buggre Alle This Bible. The lengthy compositor's error, if such it may be called, occurs in the book of Ezekiel, chapter 48, verse five:_  
_2\. And bye the border of Dan, fromme the east side to the west side, a portion for Afher._  
_3\. And bye the border of Afhter, fromme the east side even untoe the west side, a portion for Naphta-li._  
_4\. And bye the border of Naphtali, from the east side untoe the west side, a portion for Manaffeh._  
_5\. Buggre all this for a Larke. I amme sick to mye Hart of typefettinge. Master Biltonn if no Gentel-mann, and Master Scagges noe more than a tighte fisted Southwarke Knobbefticke. I telle you, onne a daye laike thif Ennywone half an oz. of Sense should bee oute in the Sunneshain, ane nott Stucke here alle the liuelong daie inn thif mowldey olde By-Our-Lady Workefhoppe. @*"AE@;!*_  
_6\. And bye the border of Ephraim, from the east fide even untoe the west fide, a portion for Reuben._  
_[The Buggre Alle This Bible was also noteworthy for having twenty seven verses in the third chapter of Genesis, instead of the more usual twenty four._  
_They followed verse 24, which in the King James version reads:_  
_"So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life," and read:_  
_25 And the Lord spake unto the Angel that guarded the eastern gate, saying Where is the flaming sword which was given unto thee?_  
_26 And the Angel said, I had it here only a moment ago, I must have put it down some where, forget my own head next._  
_27 And the Lord did not ask him again. _  
_It appears that these verses were inserted during the proof stage. In those days it was common practice for printers to hang proof sheets to the wooden beams outside their shops, for the edification of the populace and some free proofreading, and since the whole print run was subsequently burned anyway, no one bothered to take up this matter with the nice Mr. A. Ziraphale, who ran the bookshop two doors along and was always so helpful with the translations, and whose handwriting was instantly recognisable.]_
> 
> 5\. For @IDontHaveACleverQuip - you should have a vague inkling about what two of those Prophecies are leading up to.
> 
> 6\. The title is really out there, as I'm sure you are well aware, but I just couldn't help it. That song had a very strong Good Omens vibe, to me, at least. And even if Aziraphale would catalogue it as bebop, I think the feeling behind the lyrics is still there, all the same.

**Friday. 6 days after the end of the world. 4pm  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

As soon as Anathema left the bookshop, bearing two of his own books even, Aziraphale sat down at his desk, gathered his white gloves proper this time and started perusing through the Prophecies.

He would of course call her the oncoming week to inquire about the state of his prized possessions. But that was for later. Now, his only focus was the new set of Prophecies. There were various mentions of angels throughout the whole thing.

**The Beautie of Godde wilt sayeth nay.**

_Was Agnes talking about Jophiel? Would say nay to what?_

There were, of course, many Prophecies concerning the world at large. There was one about the Orient’s wrath that he picked up on quite quickly as they were already broadcasting on the radio how there was to be a trade war with China. There was another one about some trouble in the Middle East, but Agnes could have as well kept mum about that. There was always trouble in the Middle East. There were quite a few prophecies about various means of financial gain. Aziraphale first dismissed them, but then remembered that even if himself and Crowley could summon up money from the ether, the other people who helped avoid the End of Days could not. So he took a notebook and started jotting down a few, so as to lend a helping hand.

Every other turn of a page he would see angels mentioned, though.

**He who sees Godde wilt sayeth nay.**

_Nay to what, exactly?_

Chamuel had always struck him as a very nice and open-minded fellow. Never mind they haven’t seen each other in more than 60 centuries.

**The Lion of Godde wilt sayeth aye butte then see that they were sillie buggres all along.**

This was a very well scripted list of Archangels put together in no particular order, as each mention was several pages apart from the rest, chronology be damned. Although he supposed it would be very hard for a normal human to understand the intricacies of how time flowed in Heaven. _Archangels though_…Aziraphale gulped. _Whatever this was about_, he thought it to be very serious.

**He who Godde helpeth wilt sayeth aye. They wouldst alwayeft sayeth aye as they wouldst sayeth buggre alle. They are not very pleasant Angells when one thinkst of it.**

Aziraphale frowned. Gabriel breathing down his neck had been enough. And now Agnes wanted to tell him there would be even more Archangels thrown in the mix?

_So, Ariel would say yes to something. Azrael would also say yes to something. What would that something be, though?_

He kept reading, shuffling through the pages at random. Sometimes he would read a whole page, sometimes he would go through it diagonally and see if anything of import caught his gaze.

**When the Deville be upon thine door, behind thy shoppe of other people’s books, ye must be wily, Principalitie, as he seeketh a mighty vengeance.**

He jotted that down as well, thought better about it and then underlined it for good measure. Then he went back to the backroom, gathered some other fountain pens and circled around it with red ink.

He kept going, eyes darting wildly over the pages.

**When the Serpent layeth down on thy floore, first Lots will come, then One will come and They will aske to War in Heaven anew.**

_Oh dear Lord_, this was very bad indeed. He kept on reading although by now he had made a mess of the pages and jumbled them together. Not that they made much sense to begin with, chronologically or otherwise. Even less sense that its prequel. The Prophecies were heavy on scripture and divine law.

So when dawn broke, he started gathering up his beloved bibles and placed them in a neat pile on his desk. He had some serious research ahead of him.

At some point or other, the phone started ringing. _What time was it?_ Two o’clock in the afternoon.

He picked it up expecting to hear Crowley on the other end and mentally already formulating an apology about how busy he was. But then he heard the voice of someone he didn’t know – a book collector, they said - Aziraphale groaned and hung up the phone. Then thought some more about it and disconnected it completely from the wall.

Then he sat down again, realising he won’t be leaving that chair any time soon.

He opened the first bible he could get his hands on and started taking notes. So what if it happened to be the Buggre Alle This Bible?

It had all the right bits in it, even one that Aziraphale had no actual clue how had gotten there in the first place.

He jotted down all instances of angels raining down God’s will on humanity, although, by this point, Aziraphale had a hard time believing God had any reason to take credit for most of it. He made notes on small bits of paper and nearly filled the whole book with them. Then he cross-referenced them with some of the previous notes he had made concerning the Prophecies and then wrote them all down in a notebook, for backup.

**He who smote down Sodom cometh, and He who bore the plague of hail cometh and he who made the Skyes weep cometh.**

_Sandalphon, Elyon and Shoftiel._ All bad angels, the lot of them.

He had a sneaking suspicion about where this was all going and he knew he wouldn’t particularly like it once he reached the end of the road and arrived at the imminent destination. On the other hand, it wouldn't come as much of a surprise.

He had always thought it would happen at some point or other, but then the End of the World came and went, and yet here he was. Still an angel. Still safe.

**When the Deville comes hither with a warninge, I tell ye this and charge thee with my words, They will decide upon a Falle from the Heavens once more.**

_Well, then._

Aziraphale had long expected it coming. Ever since Worms back in 1096, he supposed.

He had been sent all the way from Rome with an edict and a letter written by the Pope’s own hand. It appeared he was too late.

The news about Metz had arrived to the Vatican a little too late, as it was often the case with news back then. So, letter safely tuckered into his clerical garb, Aziraphale tried his hardest to arrive in time to prevent the calamity that all of the cardinals agreed would happen once that blasted Emicho fellow reached Worms.

He even had to ride a horse and miracle said horse well rested on countless occasions as he didn’t even consider wasting valuable time.

When he reached the city walls everything was in an uproar. There were fires all around and dead bodies filling each and every street. The bishop’s palace had been ransacked and the courtyard was but brimming with corpses.

No one paid him any particular mind as he was clad in ecclesiastical garb. Surely a devout catholic couldn’t object to the massacre done in the name of the Church.

Aziraphale very much objected. So did the Pope. So did all of the cardinals, _well maybe not all of them_, bigotry was a thing that existed even back then as this particular situation made clear. And so did everyone who had written into law how the Jewish would be integrated into Catholic communities.

Aziraphale wanted to scream. He wanted to bring down divine justice on all of the people involved.

The courtyard of the palace stood as a testament of hate and self-righteousness before him, and on its dais there were hundreds of bodies of men and women and children.

_Infants, even_.

There weren’t many moments when Aziraphale regretted giving away his flaming sword but this was definitely one of them.

He stretched his perception of reality to find the source of such powerful hatred, and was surprised when he found out a very familiar demon’s energy instead. _Surely he wouldn’t do this_. Crowley would never in a million years do something like this. Aziraphale would always ask, for appearances’ sake rather then anything else, but he knew it in his heart of hearts that Crowley wasn’t truly evil and never has been.

_So what was the silly demon doing here of all places?_ Especially at a time like this. Those red curls of his would certainly gather quite a fair amount of unwanted attention. _If it walks like a duck and it quacks like a duck…_

Of course, Crowley wasn’t a duck, but those people had no qualms killing infants. Why would they even stop to consider their actions if they wanted to add another red-head to the piles of bodies? He absolutely had to find him.

He didn’t need to search for long. Once he was out of the city proper that is, and that had been quite a struggle.

There was a small forest on the outskirts of the city, and beyond that, the river Rhine.

And in the thicket along the riverbank stood Crowley, surrounded by more than a hundred children.

Aziraphale felt his heart might just explode.

More than half of them were sobbing but one girl in particular was wailing like there was no tomorrow. She was five. She was also perched in Crowley’s lap.

‘Reklin, please, please be quiet,’ Crowley begged. ‘I know it’s horrible and I know you miss your parents but please. They might find us all otherwise.’

It took forever to quiet her down and all the while Crowley kept his arms around her and gently rocked her to and fro.

‘See kid, it’s alright. It’s going to be alright,’ he said his voice nearly breaking.

Aziraphale stared from behind a pine tree at what transpired in front of him and could not believe his eyes. He knew by now, and had known for a long time that Crowley had saved the children from the flood. He had thought it to be a very obviously pointed middle finger towards the Almighty at the time.

This was certainly not that. He not only saved the children but he cared for them, Downstairs be damned (more than they usually were, at any rate). And oh, the things they would do to him for such behaviour.

A little ‘Never mind me’ miracle cast over the whole forest, Aziraphale continued to watch, enraptured.

Dusk was setting by now.

‘Listen, Enosch,’ Crowley turned to a boy of ten sitting next to him and pried the little girl’s hands from where they had balled into small fists in the fabric of his tunic as she had fallen asleep. He gently passed her over to the boy.

‘I need you to take care of your little sister while I talk to the other kids as well.’

The little boy looked at him with watery eyes but kept silent.

‘Look, I know you’re hurting too, but I need you both as quiet as possible if we plan on surviving this.’

‘Why would anyone do this?’ the boy asked his voice nearly breaking.

‘Why do people do anything? Because they’re complete cunts, the lot of them. In this particular instance maybe out of some misplaced sense of righteousness. They’re all on their way to fight the Muslims but the Holy Land is a long way to go. Maybe they though killing non-believers slightly closer to home would be easier.’

‘But we’re not -’

‘I know, kid. You all believe in the same God. Don’t even get me started on that,’ he seethed.

‘And I really do hope this was not one of Her doings. It was certainly not one of ours.’

The little boy furrowed his brow at the use of ‘Her’ but otherwise kept silent.

‘Promise me you’ll both be very quiet.’

The boy nodded, bravely.

Crowley’s hand brushed over his curls in a soothing manner before he got up and made his way to some of the other children.

Aziraphale fought the urge to go to the demon’s side and help him out in delivering the children to safety. He knew Crowley could never explain what he was doing at the moment as something particularly evil and he never wanted to embarrass him by making his presence known. So he just stood and watched, affection dripping out of his every pore.

Crowley huddled over to some of the others and greeted them on a soft tone.

One of the younger boys wrapped his arms around one of Crowley’s legs but the demon didn’t pay him any particular attention as if this was something quite common when he was concerned. Aziraphale thought that may well be the case.  


Crowley started speaking with some of the older ones, some of them nearly fourteen.

‘We need to cross the river. Then we will be safe,’ he whispered to a couple of thirteen-year-old girls. They seemed to keep it together better than the rest.

‘Where are we going to go then? Jerusalem? My father said that they were planning on going there as well, the crusaders,’ one of them inquired. She was tall for her age and sturdy and had a mop of unruly black hair. The expression on her face could move mountains.

‘They’ll never reach it, trust me on that,’ Crowley replied with bile in his tone. ‘No, we’re going to Italy, Kela. It’s quite safe there. For now.’

‘Won’t the people comment on you travelling with more than a hundred kids?’ the other one, a thin and freckled girl with hair as crimson as Crowley’s own pondered.

‘Not if they know what’s good for them.’

They all seem to consider this but the sheer determination on Crowley’s face had them convinced. He had misplaced his glasses sometime in the commotion, of that Aziraphale was certain, as he wouldn’t be caught dead without them by this point in time. His eyes were on full serpent mode but none of the children seemed to be bothered by that.

‘What would we do there? None of us even speaks Italian,’ the red-haired girl asked.

‘I’ll teach you, Melche. I’ll teach all of you.’

‘So what’s the plan, then?’

‘We wait till midnight. Then we take the raft there,’ he pointed towards the water where a very sturdy, albeit small looking raft floated gently in the current. ‘We’ll have to take turns. I need you two with me on the raft to take the younger ones over. It’s going to take all night, I think.’

They nodded sagely.

Crowley was doing this the human way, Aziraphale realised. Flying under the radar, so to speak. He had probably been reprimanded the last time he did any saving using his powers. The human way however meant traversing the Rhine more than a dozen times which was dangerous at the best of times. Now was not the best of times. They were doing it at night and the raft would only be manned by Crowley and a bunch of children. And that was if you didn’t take into account all the recent floods that made the river flow faster and wider than ever before. He would make sure they crossed it safely, miracle them safe even. Heaven couldn’t object to that.

‘You aren’t even Jewish, are you?’ Melche inquired.

‘I’m not, I’m afraid.’

‘Then why risk your life? Why do this?’

‘Because no one else seems to be willing to.’

_Oh, dear Lord_, Aziraphale thought to himself as he expected God Herself to show up in front of him and smite him with divine wrath. _Oh, this was very bad indeed_, he thought as his heart swelled. His heart had swelled ever since he first laid eyes on the children. It just took a while for his brain to catch up as well.

He figured out the thing that he wanted to do most at the moment. More than anything else, really. More than smiting down the crusaders. More than doing his blessings on everyone left. More than going back to Headoffice and screaming his lungs out, well, writing a particularly harsh memo.

The thing he most wanted to do was go to Crowley, gather him up in his arms and tell him ‘I love you’. He expected he would Fall for that. The very minute the thought of loving a demon entered his head he realised with complete clarity that this would be his downfall.

And yet, instead of reigning it back in, instead of trying to suppress those feelings, all his mind could come up with was: _‘You are good, and gentle and kind and beautiful and Hell doesn’t deserve you. Nor does Heaven, for that matter. You are the most amazing being I had the pleasure of knowing and I love you, I love you, I love you.’_

He didn’t say any of that out loud, of course. But ever since then, the thought of his Fall had been on his mind at all times. Plagued his every thought. It frightened him to no end. He tried to never ponder on it too long - on Heaven throwing him away just like that, of losing Her love, of pits of sulphur and pyres of Hellfire. He tried in vain as the insidious little thought stained everything in its wake. He would try keeping a distance from the demon. Maybe meet him once every hundred years. That was time enough spent apart to stop feeling what he was feeling right now. But this was for later. Now he had to make sure they all arrived on the other bank safe and sound.

He spent the remainder of the night watching the children on the western bank, looking after them and ensuring no one would venture in this neck of the woods, not until Crowley would manage to take them all safely across the river.

They had never spoken about this particular moment of shared history and, for all he knew, Crowley wouldn’t even think of it as shared. _Why should he?_

So Aziraphale put down his notes and sighed. His plans of only speaking to Crowley every other hundred years had been a bust. He quickly came to realise that no matter how the thought of Falling frightened him, the thought of losing Crowley absolutely terrified him. Not to mention how much he enjoyed spending time with him. So the feelings ebbed and grew. And now they flowed freely with the power of a mighty waterfall.

He knew it would happen. Had known for a thousand years but somehow he couldn’t find it in his heart to be all that upset by it, now that it was a complete certainty. He had spent many a day being terrified of the very notion. But that was before they had their own side. That was before he realised just how empty and barren Heaven was, Her love completely wasted on them.

So that was then. And this was now. And for the life of him he couldn’t understand why he had tried so very hard and for so very long to fit in with the other angels. They were cold and harsh and even downright evil, he thought as he let his mind consider Gabriel. _Why in God’s name did he fight this for so long?_

He was actually glad it was to happen after the almost Apocalypse, for otherwise, without an angel and a demon fighting side by side, the Apocalypse may have well happened for good.

He accepted this new reality willingly. Without a fear in the world. It didn’t matter now if he Fell or didn’t as he surely would never set foot in Heaven ever again.

He did however worry about the other things on his mind.

**When the Deville be upon thy door, behind thy shoppe of other people’s books, ye must be wily Principalitie as he seeketh a mighty vengeance.**

This certainly involved Crowley somehow. He wold never let anything happen to him, Fallen or not. So he grabbed his pen and started scribbling yet again. He would keep at it for a very long while. Patience was after all a virtue and he was an angel still. _For the moment, at least._

At some unspecified point or other during the week that followed he got up to call Adam. Then he sat down again and continued with his notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The history titbit I wrote about in this chapter is something know as the Rhineland Massacres. It's a particularly vile piece of history, but then again, so were all of the Crusades by and large. You should really read about it, it's as nasty as one gets, this side of the Inquisition and the Holocaust. Goes to prove that people have been cunts for a very long time now.  
It baffles me to no end however that this was done by one man and his followers, especially since the Church strongly objected to it. One of the Popes back then wrote 25 letters about how the Jewish people were to be treated and how they would fit in. Bishops and the local clerics took them in their own homes to protect them. And then the crusaders came by and ransacked those homes. I mean...
> 
> The names I used for the children are actual Jewish names from medieval Germany. Slight variations of the original biblical ones, as dictated by time and nationality. So Reklin comes from Rachel, Enosch from Enoch and Melche from Malka. They were all recorded much later in the 13th and 14th centuries in lower Germany as being Jewish names but blame a girl for not finding accurate historical mentions of Jewish names from the 11th century. This is as accurate as you're gonna get.


	21. There there, little Hellspawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short, self-indulgent chapter with Crowley being a bit of a mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry I haven't posted anything in almost a week. Work's been a complete shit show.
> 
> I recently started rereading the book and the scene with Crowley running Anathema over with his car was downright hilarious, neither of them having their headlights on while driving at night, both of them complete train-wrecks. So this is more book-compliant rather than TV-show-compliant.

**Friday. 6 days after the end of the world. 7pm  
Victoria Station. Exterior.**

Crowley drove them all back to Victoria Station where Newt and Anathema were waiting to pick the kids up while ‘Lucy in the sky with diamonds’ was blaring from the Bentley’s speakers. He was glad to see that Adam’s little reboot of reality meant he still had a solid week of being able to enjoy all the CD's in his car before they invariably defaulted to ‘The Best of Queen’.

The Them collectively agreed it was a nice song and started singing along. Pepper asked what it was about and he pondered replying _‘ask your mum, she seems the kind to know that sort of thing’_ for a moment before deciding _‘I’ll tell you kids when you’re older’_ was the more appropriate response. 

They reached Victoria station in a haze, mostly due to Crowley’s driving. But having four kids high on sugary goodness chatting animatedly about any old thing and asking all sorts of questions also made the ride seem much shorter than any of them wanted it to be. That’s what he liked so much about kids, now wasn’t it? They asked questions all the time. As they veered closer and closer to adulthood they would cross the line into _‘one mustn’t ask too many questions’_ and _‘this is just how things are done’_ and _‘aren’t you a nosy fucker for prying so’_ territory. Kids though, their thirst for knowledge was infinite, much like Crowley’s own had been before the Fall.

He could see pouts all around as they got out of the car. Adam in particular seemed pretty miffed to go from spending the day at the zoo seeing all those animals he only saw on TV back to boring old Tadfield. 

To go from eating pizza and ice-cream and cheesecake and cotton candy (that last one was aided by that puppy eyed expression they had mustered so well that seemed to work on the demon so much better than it did on their parents who were well accustomed to it by now) to eating greens and roast beef for two days in a row was something quite disheartening. 

To go from being properly listened to by an adult, and one that said ‘fuck’ without a care in the world (and that was quite something for an eleven-year-old to handle) to going back to being patted on the head and chuckled at whenever he said things like ‘Anathema’s a witch’ was also quite upsetting. 

And that didn’t even begin to describe it. He had thousands upon thousands of questions about Heaven and Hell, about God and Lucifer – his decidedly not father. 

His parents would never be able to answer any of those outside of whatever little scripture they knew. And it wasn’t much. They would go to church every other Sunday, because that was the proper thing to do and there would be _Talk_ in the village if they didn’t, but other than that they didn’t seem particularly interested in the subject. Neither was Adam until last week. Now though, he wanted to have Crowley on speed-dial as his mind raced about the whole thing.

Newt was leaning against his car watching Anathema go on and on about how wonderful Aziraphale’s bookshop was with a fond smile on his face. She was gesturing wildly with one hand while the other gripped two books tightly to her chest, Crowley noted.

‘Book girl,’ he called out.

Anathema spun on her heels and her expression changed from child-like wonder to a tight-lip frown.

‘You didn’t tell me he would be driving them around, Newt,’ her head spun back to her boyfriend. ‘I would have never agreed to him driving them around,’ she huffed and crossed her arms, holding the books close to her chest.

‘He drives like a goddamned lunatic!’

‘You’re right about that part in the middle, at least,’ Crowley smirked.

‘Oh, it’s wasn’t that bad,’ Adam said as he thought about the slow crawl that getting back to Tadfield in a Wasabi would be. That car was never designed for speed and even if he had willed it to be capable of hosting 6 passengers, which was two more than the space in it allowed and four more than the engine could carry, he knew they would be riding back at 30 miles per hour.

‘He ran me over with his car! He didn’t even have lights on!’

‘Neither did you, book girl, I thought we already cleared that out.’

‘I had broken bones and my bicycle was completely destroyed.’

‘And then the angel fixed everything, didn’t he?’

‘Still.’

‘What’s done is done. We were all trying to avert the Apocalypse and paid little mind to anything else. Bloody well succeed, too,’ he bumped his fist against Adam’s shoulder to Adam’s obvious glee.

‘Well, I suppose,’ Anathema conceded with a roll of her eyes.

‘I see Aziraphale grew quite fond of you,’ Crowley pointed to the two books in her hand. ‘He never parts with his books willingly.’

‘What can I say, I’m quite the delight.’

She didn’t mention the little exchange that had prompted the angel to hand over the books so eagerly. She supposed the Prophecies were Aziraphale’s property now and he would tell the demon about them whenever he saw fit. _If he saw fit_, that was.

‘Alright, then. You lot best be off,’ he shrugged noncommittally as if to suggest that the day out wasn’t that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. 

It had been quite pleasant, if he said so himself, but he would never acknowledge that in front of other people. 

His two default settings were either: hovering around Aziraphale like a moth around a flame – and he knew he should be careful about the frequency of their little get-togethers now that there was no need for an Arrangement anymore; and brooding dejectedly in his apartment with minor intermissions when he would drag his sorry arse to go yell at the plants. 

There was, of course, a third default setting: all the tempting and the ingenious ways of inconveniencing humans so that he would score points for Hell’s books, but now that he was no longer employed by Hell he found it very hard to care about that. He would never tire of gluing coins on the sidewalk but that was just a passion project of his, not an actual evil deed dictated by his former employer. 

So the point was that the day out with the Them had been a change of scenery. A change of pace. Something altogether new that seemed to keep all that loneliness that Adam had talked about at bay, even if it was for a short while. 

Aziraphale could of course rid him of all of that loneliness whenever he saw fit. _If ever_, he thought. He bit the side of his cheek. Maybe he’ll call later. See what the angel had been up to this week. Most likely it would involve him fussing about his books and trying to dissuade as many customers as possible from buying any of them. 

‘You saved my new number, yes?’ he asked Adam brandishing a newly purchased smartphone. 

‘Yeah. Did you save mine?’ 

‘No need, I’ve had that one for a while, I know it by heart.’ 

‘So you’ll call?’ 

‘Of course, kid. Now off you go.’ 

Adam looked from Crowley to the Them to Anathema and Newt and then back to Crowley and found that he didn’t much care about embarrassing himself in front of them as he did something no respectable eleven-year-old would do which was hug the demon tightly and for quite a long amount of time. 

‘There there, little Hellspawn. You can always call or text me,’ Crowley patted Adam’s curls and raised his eyes to meet Anathema’s. ‘Do you plan on coming back to London anytime soon?’ 

Anathema had to admit she was slightly taken aback by how close Adam and Crowley had become. And how nice the demon was being to Adam. _Birds of a feather_, she surmised. But it did come as a bit of a surprise to see two people with such tight connections to Hell behave as anything but that. They had, both of them, in their own unique way, pointed a certain middle finger in Hell’s general direction and now they had to band up together. Much like Crowley and the angel, she supposed. 

‘There’s a book fair I want to visit in two weeks’ time,’ she said despite herself, as very much wanted the demon to think she was still cross with him but found it very hard when she watched him pat Adam’s head like that. 

‘Aiight. Adam?’ 

Adam’s head shot up, chin perched on Crowley’s chest. 

‘Think you can convince your parents that another trip to London is just the thing for a young, developing mind such as yours?’ Crowley smiled conspiratorially. 

Adam’s face split into a wide grin and he nodded fervently. 

‘Book girl?’ he cocked an eyebrow up at Anathema. 

‘Yeah, alright, Adam can string along if he wants.’ 

‘Good. See you in two weeks, kid.’ 

‘Yeah, see you.’ 

‘Bye, gang. Book girl. Book girl’s boyfriend,’ Crowley intoned as he made his way back to his car. 

They all started arguing about who would ride in the front of the car by the time he reached the Bentley and had not finished that particular argument as he slipped inside, turned on the ignition, turned the car into reverse and passed them on the way out of the parking lot with a wave. His money was on Adam, though. 

He had actually bought two smartphones instead of one. He planned on gifting the second to Aziraphale to avoid situations like the one before their dinner at The Garden where either of them would be out and about and the other would worry incessantly. Maybe he’d pop over to do just that. 

He called Aziraphale’s landline. It was occupied. He frowned a bit, not wanting to assume anything bad had happened but also not wanting to intrude on the angel. 

Maybe he would take a little detour. Just drive by, see that everything was as it should be. He tried calling again just to be sure and it was still occupied. He floored the acceleration. 

The Bentley thought it proper to start playing ‘Nowhere man’. 

‘Ha, bloody, _ha_,’ he snarled at the car that only responded by turning the volume up. 

‘You’re a real piece of work, you know.’ 

The Bentley hummed in response. He was quickly nearing ninety miles per hour by this point. 

He turned right and then left and then left again and was on Aziraphale’s street when he started pressing the break pedal slightly. He wouldn’t stop, just drive by and make sure nothing out of the ordinary happened to the bookshop. 

And sure enough, there was a faint light coming from inside, filtering through those ancient windows that could really use a proper wash sometime this millennia and he could feel the angel’s presence completely unperturbed. _Which could only mean one thing_, he thought to himself as he floored the acceleration yet again. 

Aziraphale was nose deep into yet another new book and would keep his phone disconnected until he finished it. 

He drove back to Mayfair, breathing a sigh of relief. The angel was safe. Completely oblivious and irritating with his habit of disconnecting his phone whenever he saw fit, but safe nonetheless. 

The Bentley, knowing her demonic owner very well by now and feeling a bit cheeky after a day of having to put up with kids of all things, started playing ‘I’m so tired’. 

Crowley could sense a theme. He slapped the dashboard. The Bentley’s engine revved. 

‘You’re treading on thin ice,’ he growled as he gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. 

But the Bentley was right. He really was tired. And as much as he didn’t want to admit certain things to anyone other than himself, they were soul-draining. He wanted to sleep for a week. Would sleep for a week, actually. There was nothing stopping him. 

He parked the car, got up to his apartment, chanced a peek into the greenery where every plant shook in terror – _Good!_ – and landed on his king-sized bed, face first. 

He woke up three days later and tried calling Aziraphale. It was still disconnected. He groaned and went back to sleep. 


	22. Heaven is a place, full stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not a place on Earth, despite the song. Heaven is cold and empty and full of bureaucracy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can think of this chapter as happening whenever in between this point in time and 3 years from now. Time in Heaven flows differently.

**Unspecified point in time because well, Heaven.  
Heaven.**

In between two or three celestial harmonies there was always time for some idle gossiping, as there often tends to be the case in any work environment, usually around the water-cooler.

This particular conversation was taking place in that empty third-floor bathroom that no one seemed to use much, with the window slightly open as a cigarette was passed around. 

‘Whatever happened to the Earth-bound Angel after all?’ the Angel In Charge Of Finding That Your Smartphone Had Been in Your Back-pocket All Along After You Had a Complete Mental Breakdown asked.

‘Dunno. I heard Gabriel burned him in Hellfire,’ the Angel In Charge Of Finding Out No One’s Nicked Anything From Your Quite Unlocked Car supplied.

‘Nah, I’ve heard quite the story from Uriel’s department that he actually managed to survive that,’ the Angel In Charge of Never Leaving Your Stove On Although You Most Definitely Thought You Did said, conspiratorially.

‘How in the nine Realms of Hell – aaargh, that hurts – could he have done that?’ the Angel that Made Sure The Fire In The Chimney Never Caught A Gust Of Wind To Burn Your House Down inquired. He was quite a lot older than the bunch he was now sharing a cigarette with, but he always wanted to fit in with the youngsters. 

That was not to say that any of them was very young. Eons upon eons before the birth of time itself they had been created. It was just that most of them fell into their places as humanity evolved. 

You had to have a messenger Angel. The Strength of God. That was Gabriel.

You had an Angel shaped as God herself. She Who is as God. That was Michael. But as of late, most of them seriously wondered about that. Even Michael herself started to, at some point.

You had an Angel that healed. God Heals. Although none of them spoke of Raphael much. It wasn’t that they didn’t like him. Most of them liked him very much. It was because of the complete shit-fit Gabriel would throw every time Raphael’s name got mentioned.

You had an angel of beauty. The Beauty of God. Jophiel. But she had been quite absent as of late, wondering around the world as she astral-projected her divine inspiration on quite a large number of artists. Gabriel had commented on that as well, but he knew better than anger more than one Archangel.

You had an Angel that protected the environment. All the kingdoms there were. The Lion of God. Ariel was however indisposed at the moment and had been for the last 200 years. Ever since that horrible business with the industrial revolution, her most prized and loving animals seemed to die by the day. If she had been human, she would have been diagnosed with clinical depression.

You had an angel of Death. Well, not quite. That was what the humans thought when they heard his name. Who God Helps. That didn’t mean to say that Archangel Azrael wasn’t quite close to Death Himself. They would often stop for bagels or scones on every other Sunday.

And of course you had the angel of peace. He Who Sees God. Chamuel. Well, that had been a load of bollocks since neither of them had seen God for quite a lot of time now.

There were The Seraphim, and The Cherubim, The Thrones, The Dominions, The Virtues, The Powers, The Archangels, The Principalities. And then, of course, there were the Angels. Much like in any multi-million dollars company the people at the bottom were the ones supposed to do all of the actual work and these were the people at the bottom. So they lazed on company time and gossiped idly.

‘No Angel can survive Hellfire,’ Smartphone Angel snorted as he took the stub that was left of the cigarette.

‘This one apparently did,’ Stove Angel continued.

‘There will be another war in Heaven if that’s indeed true,’ Chimney Angel sighed. None of the others had witnessed the first one. He didn’t much want to witness another one himself.

‘About what you’re said earlier – about Uriel’s department, I rather thought you were in Vretiel’s department, were you not?’

‘Change of scenery or whatever you wish to call it.’

‘I think they’re a bit afraid of all of us. They are high and mighty, no one ever doubted that. But I think they wanted Aziraphale to be an example to us all.’

‘Aziraphale – that was his name – I had a severe lapse.’

No one paid that particular Angel any mind.

‘But they didn’t do jack shit to him.’

‘Maybe we should do what humans do.’

‘Bleagh.’

‘What was it called again? Unionise!’

The thing is, in any proper multi-million dollars company everyone involved hated the CEO. Not the Boss. The Boss was more than usually absent. This time, the particular position of CEO fell on Gabriel’s shoulders. And if we wanted to be fair, no one, at any point in time, had liked Gabriel awfully much.

Of course that particular conversation never took place as Heaven doesn’t have either a water-cooler or a third floor bathroom and is most definitely a non-smoking area. 

Gossip takes seed and it permeates, however, so it wasn’t long before the news of Aziraphale’s failed execution was on everyone’s lips. No matter how on the hush-hush Gabriel and the rest had tried to keep it. Not long was, in this case, maybe a year after the Apocalypse that wasn’t. Heaven wasn’t very good with time. Nor was Hell, for that matter. Maybe it was a year. Maybe it was a week. Maybe it was a hundred years. Still, Gabriel found out. He would always find out. It was in the job description, after all.

Being the messenger angel that he was, Gabriel found out about the gossiping quickly enough. He fussed and he frowned and he seethed. He wanted Aziraphale gone. Had wanted it from the very beginning after the Apocalypse that wasn’t. He knew that this particularly bothersome angel would be a cog in his wheel. He knew that if you left an angel unpunished then you would have a rebellion on your hands.

He had to do something about him sooner or later or the whole of Heaven would have his head on a platter. But he needed to think this through. He had to have backup. He had to have allies.


	23. Of hasty drives and talk of apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The husbands are back at it. It being sharing the total of one brain-cell. I did say this is going to be the slowest of slowburns, didn't I?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry about the long wait in between chapters, although, I suppose by now it should be considered the norm judging by the last couple of chapters at least.  
Missing flights and having to change airports and the like haven't exactly helped in the posting new chapters department either, and that's pretty much how the last three days of my life went, so there's that.

**Saturday. Two weeks after the end of the world. 1pm.  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

Aziraphale put down his reading glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. All around him piles upon piles of discarded notes stood testament to his obstinate but thorough research. He could feel his back was quite stiff. 

Understandably so, as he had spent the entire week sat down on a not particularly comfortable chair. _No matter_. He thought he got the gist of it, in the end.

He should tell Crowley. _No. He shouldn’t_. He would get the demon worried sick and he didn’t want that. He could deal with it just fine. Would deal with it. Especially the parts that concerned the demon in question. 

He got up and, sure enough, every part of him ached. He miracled the stiffness and the pain away as he found he could no longer be bothered preforming whatever miracles he saw fit, frivolous, or otherwise. 

He then picked up the notes that rang true and, together with the new book of Prophecies carried them back upstairs and locked them away in a safe-vault. 

The other piles he just stared at for a long amount of time before deciding that even if he couldn’t give less of a damn about who read up on his miracle log back Upstairs, he didn’t particularly want them knowing he was in possession of such information like the one he’d recently unearthed. He disposed of them the human way. 

Then he locked the shop and turned the corner into the back-alley behind it where he spent a little over twenty minutes for reasons rather unclear to us at the moment. 

And then he returned to the shop and called Crowley. Not about the Prophecies. No, just about dinner plans. He was feeling a bit peckish. Not eating for a week does that to you, angel or not. 

‘Hey, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do, so do it with style.’ 

Aziraphale huffed. He hated Crowley’s ansaphone even if he knew he was the only one to blame for the demon having one in the first place. If he had been a better angel and would have thought at all about hypocrisy, he would have found himself feeling rather guilty about disconnecting his phone completely for a week. He wasn’t a better angel, so the thought never entered his mind. 

‘Hello, dear boy. Fancy popping over to that new Italian restaurant I was telling you about? Did I tell you about it? Must have. Anyway, I was considering going out for dinner tonight. If you wanted to join, you’d be more than welcome. Pip pip.’ 

He hung off the phone. _Pip pip? Really?_ They haven’t spoken for a week and this was the best he could come up with? 

He tried busying himself with organising some of the shelves and then doing a bit of inventory even if it wasn’t Friday. But he had missed one, so he had an excuse to keep his mind off things in general and Crowley not calling back in particular by fussing over books, like he very often did. 

When the clock struck half-past-six he adjusted his coat and left for the restaurant. Maybe Crowley would just pop up there. 

He didn’t, of course. 

Aziraphale waited patiently for half an hour while sampling the house red before he gave up completely and ordered something from the chef’s recommendations. 

He must have eaten and he must have paid for his meal as well, he surmised as he walked back to the bookshop. Strangely enough, he didn’t remember what anything tasted like. 

His mind was somewhere else entirely. Thinking about the Prophecies. Thinking about Crowley and why he didn’t answer his phone. About why he didn’t come out for dinner like he usually would. 

Maybe Aziraphale had failed to mention anything about the newly opened quaint little bistro as far as the demon was concerned so Crowley would have no idea where to come in the first place. Maybe Crowley had other things to do than wait for him to call. 

Crowley didn’t, but Aziraphale was oblivious to that. 

He went back to the bookshop and busied himself with trying to restore one of the bibles he had industriously studied for the last week. 

It had started fraying at the edges and the illustrations were very faint, mere contours of the original ones. The gold leaf was but a distant memory. 

He could, of course, miracle it new. He never did that, however. It seemed wrong to do that. And if him doing it the hard and tedious human way was also keeping his mind and his hands busy, well then, no one was none the wiser. 

Two days later the phone rang. To say that he nearly knocked his chair over as he darted for the phone would be the understatement of the century. 

‘Hello, angel,’ he heard from the receiver. 

‘Well, hello, dear boy.’ 

‘Must have missed your message. I took a drive to Scotland for old times’ sake.’ 

‘How is Edinburgh?’ 

‘Much better now that you don’t need to get there on horseback.’ 

‘Oh, shush, I was the one having to do that while you lazed around getting sloshed with Will at The George. Don't think I don't know about that.’ 

‘Well, you weren’t around so I had to make due with whatever company I could find. He wasn’t that bad. Anyway, finished your book?’ 

‘What?’ 

‘You had your phone disconnected for a week. You only do that when you get your hands on a new first edition. Was it any good?’ 

_Oh, right_. He had unplugged his phone, hadn’t he? Crowley must have called and several times if he came to that particular conclusion. _Bugger._

‘Yes, it was, rather.’ 

There was a pause. 

‘About that dinner?’ 

‘Yes, dear?’ 

‘What do you say to a day out at the National Gallery instead? We haven’t been there in ages and there’s a nice temporary exhibition on Spanish Renaissance.’ 

Aziraphale frowned. 

Ever since the Inquisition Crowley never found anything about Spain even remotely nice. 

He had pointed out at several points in time what a masterful artist Goya was. Crowley’s response was always bitching about the Napoleonic string of massacres and the second newly founded Inquisition. 

He had on occasion speculated about El Greco’s religious imagery and he was swiftly silenced by Crowley’s ramblings about the artist being brainwashed by the people Upstairs. 

He did like the wines and the tapas, but other than that, Crowley hated everything Spain-related. 

So why was it that he offered a visit to a Spanish-oriented exhibition rather than a quiet dinner among friends? 

He said as much. 

‘I thought you hated Spain,’ he pouted. 

The pout could be heard clearly over the telephone lines, Crowley being an expert by now on the angel’s moods. 

‘Not the art. Well, not always. I just thought you’d like it. Seemed right up your alley with all the iconography. We can do something else if you’re not in the mood.’ 

Aziraphale had promised himself he’d let the demon take the reins on this, whatever this was, so he couldn’t refuse the invitation. 

‘No no, the National Gallery sounds lovely.’ 

‘Well then. Tomorrow? Noon?’ 

‘Jolly good.’ 

'I’ll pick you up at twelve.’ 

Aziraphale hung up and frowned some more. 

This was very unusual Crowley behaviour. He would go along with it, of course, but he did worry like he always did when Crowley was concerned. 

He made himself a hot cocoa and settled in for the night with a book in his lap, not quite concentrating on the words as his eyes drifted over them unfocused. He instead focused on the fact that he had turned his phone off for a week, guilt finally settling in. 

Noon came and Crowley arrived in front of the bookshop at 12 o’clock sharp. Aziraphale could hear the tires screeching to a halt outside. He put down his book an got up to meet Crowley but no little bell atop the door made the demon’s presence known. 

Aziraphale peered from behind a bookcase at the Bentley in front of the shop. Crowley was sitting behind the wheel staring straight ahead, eyebrows furrowed. 

_Oh, was he supposed to go out?_ Maybe that’s what Crowley expected him to do. _Well then_, he straightened his waistcoat and his bow-tie more out of habit than need for them to be straightened and stepped into the street. A quick miracle ensured that the closed sign was in place and the door was quite definitely locked 

He stepped to the passenger’s side and Crowley’s unfocused gaze landed on him and he quickly bent over quite out of his way to open the door for him. 

‘Hello, my dear,’ Aziraphale smiled at him warmly as if to thank him for the courtesy. 

‘Mornin’, angel.’ 

He shifted the car into gear and floored the acceleration, earning a loaded look from Aziraphale. 

‘Put some music on, why don’t you, and stop pouting.’ 

Aziraphale actually pouted even more but started searching in the glove compartment for any CD that was not bebop nonetheless. He found some Handel and some Debussy and then his eyes landed on something he was quite in the mood for. 

‘Ah,’ Aziraphale intoned happily as he took the CD out of it’s case ans inserted it into the slot on the dashboard. ‘I think I’ve found just the thing.’ 

Tchaikovsky's _‘Crazy little thing called love’_ started blaring from the speakers. 

Crowley groaned. 

‘I thought the boy’d fixed it.’ 

‘Well, it has been a little over two weeks since the presumed end of days. 

‘Armagedidn’t,’ Crowley smirked. 

‘Whatever you wish to call it. Two weeks since you got the Bentley back as well. You know they have a habit of doing that if you leave them in the car for longer than two weeks.’ 

‘This time it feels a bit on the nose, don’t you think?’ he lightly tapped the driving wheel as he accelerated through a red light and only on a microscopic molecular level avoided the collision with first a double-decker and then a large group of Asian tourists, both of them in the span of less than 30 seconds. 

The Bentley attempted to shrug as there was a lull and a pause in Freddie’s voice. 

Crowley didn’t further comment on it but knew she was being deliberately nasty as just that morning on the drive to the bookshop she had played Chopin’s actual Chopin music, in that particular case the Nocturne Op.9. 

They both stared straight ahead, not paying the music any mind. The Bentley tried turning up the volume but could do nothing much in the face of such pigheaded obtuseness so she gave up, for the moment at least. 

Crowley presumably was looking at the road, although, judging by the string of honks, yells and other expletives, he might as well be playing Candy Crush in the back seat. 

Aziraphale was toying with his pocket watch visibly at odds with whatever he was going to say next. 

‘I’m terribly sorry, you know.’ 

‘Mhm?’ 

‘About the phone business. I didn’t want to have you worried like I was the Monday right after. I was a proper mess and to think I’ve been doing the same thing to you for a week…well, that wasn’t very considerate of me. But you know how I get when I find a new book, you’ve said so yourself. And this ghastly book collector called and -’ 

Crowley shushed him. Even when he was apologising he had to be all ruffled feathers and all of that. 

Crowley then quickly cleared his throat as the thought of actually ruffling his feathers entered his mind and made his cheeks bright red. 

‘Here, hold this,’ he croaked as he pointed to the driving wheel. He needed a distraction and he had just the thing. 

Aziraphale acquiesced, his mind clearly on his unfinished apology, and his fingers wrapped around the driving wheel just as Crowley completely turned to the backseat and started fiddling with some bags behind the driver’s seat. 

‘Crowley!’ the angel screamed, fingers completely paralysed in a death grip on the wheel, eyes blown wide and the other hand grasping at the door-handle with white knuckles. 

‘Mmyeah?’ Crowley tried to reply as casually as he could as he turned back although it did sound just a tad desperate. 

He took control of the wheel again and as soon as this happened Aziraphale drew his hand away like he’d been burned. 

‘What is the _matter_ with you? We could have been killed! Well, you know. And I don’t think either of our sides would be all that pleased to issue us with new bodies at this particular point in time. You’re well aware I don’t know how to drive!’ 

‘You did a marvelous job, angel. We don’t even have a scratch.’ 

That had more to to with the Bentley’s self-preservation skills than with anything else but he didn’t comment on that. 

‘Never took any driving lessons, never took any exams, never got a license,’ Aziraphale huffed, not exactly dissuaded when it came to proper ranting. 

‘That certainly didn’t stop me from driving,’ Crowley drawled as he nearly missed a couple of cyclists. He didn’t have to nearly miss them. He’d seen them half a minute ago. He just didn’t like cyclists much. 

Aziraphale was too shocked by the whole train of events for his mind to keep track with things at this pace. 

‘What was that?’ 

‘I said I don’t have a driving license either.’ 

‘And it bloody shows!’ 

‘Come on, angel, don’t be a bore. Here, I bought you something,’ he said as he tossed him the box he had darted under the seat to look for only a minute ago. 

Aziraphale seemed to ease up when presented with a gift, earlier shouting match quickly forgotten. 

‘Got you a mobile phone, angel. It’s time to drag you by your lapels into the 21st century. Or is it by your suspenders? You seem like the suspender-wearing type. Anyhow, this way we can reach each other all the time, not just when we’re at home. And you won’t have to worry anymore.’ 

‘How kind of you!’ Aziraphale beamed, the earlier comment about suspenders quite forgotten and he started unpacking the wrapping. 

Crowley was just on the verge of hissing at him something about kindness and him not being on the same side of the coin when Aziraphale huffed in that self-righteous way of his that had the demon wrapped around his little finger. 

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale stated with a combination of confusion, slight annoyance, a pinch of amusement and general I-am-so-done-with-your-bullshitness. 

‘Myeah?’ 

‘Why does it have an apple on it?’ 

Crowley glanced sideways and, sure enough, the logo was there for all to see. He hadn’t even planned this, it was just some hilarious coincidence. He didn’t much care for brands in general, just miracled whatever was the latest fad at the moment into existence and into his possession every other month. 

But he had gone and bought the phone for Aziraphale without even thinking about it. _‘The most expensive one you’ve got,’_ he had said to the clerk at the till while nose deep in his own phone checking out some videos that Adam had sent. They were mostly centred around Dog and Crowley was happy to see that the red demonic stare activated whenever geese were around. He hated geese. _‘Oh, and wrap it up, will you? It’s supposed to be a gift.’_

Crowley burst out laughing.

‘It isn’t funny,’ Aziraphale huffed some more. ‘I told you the apple business is getting rather old.’ 

‘And I told you it will never get old, not in a million years. But I do have to say that this time it was completely accidental.’ 

‘It even has a bite-mark, Crowley,’ he added dejectedly as the demon continued to laugh. 

‘Can’t be blamed for their choice of branding, angel. Didn’t have anything to do with the company in general. Could have taken some credit for it now that I think of it, but we’re past that now.’ 

‘It’s just not proper to start giving apple-related things to an angel, that’s all,’ Aziraphale prodded on, but Crowley could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He just continued for argument’s sake. 

‘Oh, I think we’re way past that too by now. S’just a phone, angel. Just say you don’t want it and be done with it. Although I did hope I had other means to contact you than that blasted two-centuries-old phone.’ 

‘It’s not two centuries old. I bought it back in the nineteen sixties.’ 

‘Whatever you say, angel.’ 

‘And you know how awful I am with all this new technology.’ 

‘That’s just because you don’t ever try any of it. Look, I can teach you, if you want.’ 

‘Oh, would you? That would be lovely,’ Aziraphale beamed yet again and, in a flurry of excitement, lightly squeezed Crowley’s shoulder. 

_Shit_, thought Crowley. 

_Oh bugger_, thought Aziraphale and he removed his hand immediately. 

Then Crowley’s mind stopped forming any coherent thoughts and they nearly crashed into Nelson’s column proper, were it not for one of Aziraphale’s quick miracles that made the Bentley draw to a halt right in the middle of Trafalgar Square. 

'Right then,’ Aziraphale cleared his throat and readjusted an already perfect-looking bow-tie. ‘Let’s go, shall we?’ 

Crowley’s brain took a while to do a hard reboot. 

‘Mhm,’ was the only thing it could supply him with for the moment. 

He got out of the car on unsteady feet, not that his feet were usually steady to begin with, him slithering around more than properly walking, and followed the angel towards the National Gallery. 

A very agitated policeman started running after them yelling that they can’t park there, but a quick snap of fingers ensured that the man suddenly had other things to worry about. Another snap and everyone milling about suddenly thought nothing of the car in the middle of the square. It was supposed to be there. 

And, as such, quite a queue started forming around the car as more and more people started taking selfies with it. 

The Bentley growled. It would have words with Crowley later about this. Those words would actually be Freddie’s as she planned to blast _‘Love of my life’_ at full volume on their way back. She was a vengeful little shit, much like her owner. 


	24. Aziraphale is dragged by the lapels into the 21st century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actually, the end of the 20th, but hey, at least it's still not the 19th.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short and fluffy chapter since I need fluffy in my life as the saga of whatever it is I've done to upset the powers that be continues and somehow I managed to get my phone stolen. But enough about my bad luck sob story.  
Aziraphale has a computer in the book - one which he uses for doing his taxes, and there was a computer in the backroom scene with Gabriel and Sandalphon, so Aziraphale isn't completely incompetent when it comes to technology. Maybe just when it comes to smartphones.

**Tuesday. Three weeks after the end of the world. 4pm.  
The National Cafe. Interior.**

‘That was not as fun as I thought it would be,’ Aziraphale declared while taking a bite out of his salted caramel profiterole. 

‘Fun? When was going to museums ever fun?’ Crowley gave him the raised eyebrow treatment.

‘It’s always fun,’ the angel supplied. _When I’m with you_, was very much left out of the equation. 

‘And besides,’ he added to steer his mind away from that train of thought, ‘you’re the one that suggested it in the first place.’

‘I always enjoy a piece of iconography, me. To see how much they get wrong. That Bosch fellow was right on the money, mind you. Went and thought he got a free tour of Hell for quite sometime.’

‘Well, I thought it would be more accurate, that’s all,’ Aziraphale said as he cut his next bite.

‘What, you mean Jesus not being a blonde cherub? Can’t be helped, really. People always painted what was familiar to them. Fuck’s sake, they paint Adam and Eve as if the Garden of Eden was in fucking Norway. That’s just how things are, angel. People like to portray what they don’t understand as something familiar.’

‘Do you think there are lots of blonde and blue-eyed children in Spain, then?’

‘Now? Lots. Back in the fifteen hundreds? Not so many.’

‘Anyway, I much prefer the Italians and I know you do too.’

‘That’s right. Leonardo was a fucking delight. Most of them were, really. Although, if I come to think of it, most of them portray Gabriel as this long-haired blonde fellow. Green eyes even. That didn’t happen to be one of your little blessings, now was it?’

‘Of course it wasn’t. I was focusing on literature at the time, thank you very much. Dante was just writing his magnum opus. And then there was that whole thing with Machiavelli, which, for the record, I hold you completely responsible for.’

‘Can’t be helped now can it,’ Crowley shrugged and returned to the conversation at hand. ‘Anyway, he seemed angelic enough in all those portraits. Just didn’t look like Gabe much, is all I’m saying. Didn’t look like you either, that’s why I’m asking. Blonde locks and green eyes, now when did that become a thing? I swear there’s hundreds of paintings portraying the Annunciation that could just as well be xerox-copied one after the other. Was any of you lot of the blonde and green-eyed variety?’

‘Well, I suppose…oh, you surely don’t recall him. And he was granted a leave of absence so maybe it was all his divine intervention.’

‘An angel? Leave of absence?’

‘Yes, rather. Orders came from up top, not that they talk much about it back Upstairs,’ Aziraphale hummed as he chewed on some more profiteroles. ‘I’m talking about Raphael. He was the one with the golden curls. Do you remember at all?’ he asked hopefully.

Crowley shook his head. He had no recollection of other angels. Of nothing much before his Fall. He knew about the stars but that was probably because his spiteful little heart clung on to that memory for dear life treasuring it and making sure it will be safe. The other thing he remembered, albeit vaguely, considering that he had spent more than 6000 years without it, was God’s love. That was the extent of his recollections from before.

‘Now that I think about it, it must have definitely been him,’ Aziraphale started waiving his fork about as he put two plus two together. ‘He and Gabriel had always been at each other’s throats since the beginning and really now, what better way to spite someone than to make sure none of their depictions looked like them.’

Aziraphale chuckled, obviously quite amused by his fellow associate's behaviour. Crowley laughed as well. That was a very nasty thing to do. He quite approved. The laugh was not long lasted though, as Aziraphale provided the next titbit of information from Memory Lane.

‘I think I might have spotted him once, not that the art scene was my thing, but I do believe he spent quite a lot of time with that Sanzio fellow.’

Crowley’s jaw set tightly. He distinctly remembered someone whose face screamed Renaissance masterpiece. He remembered them in relation to him and sharing quite a lot of carafes of wine. He remembered the little tavern in Florence and he remembered Leonardo and Rafael chatting animatedly while the stranger – what did he say his name was – was absolutely and completely enthralled by him. He didn’t want to think about it. Having to realise, albeit 600 years later, that he had shared a table with Archangel fucking Raphael and hadn’t been smote on the spot was a bit much, even for Crowley. And he had just prevented the Apocalypse. Well, helped. Well, had been there when it didn’t happen.

‘I’m tired of theology, angel. Let’s talk about something else.’

‘Oh, you did say you’ll teach me to use this modern contraption,’ Aziraphale said as he picked up the box in his lap. Box he had cradled in his hands throughout their museum visit with the same reverence he would have had were this to be the second coming of Christ.

‘Right, so I’ll have to set you up first. This is your SIM card. What you do is…you know what? Why don’t I just do it for you? It’ll be easier that way.’

‘What’s this for?’

‘That’s for charging it. Don’t worry about that, you won’t need it.’

‘Oh?’

‘Little demonic miracle. Can’t be worrying that you forget to charge your phone while you go on a week-long reading binge.’

‘Oh, I see.’

Crowley made quick work of setting Aziraphale’s phone up.

‘So, you have to press here to unlock it.’

‘Press where? There aren’t any buttons.’

‘On the icon, angel.’

‘Which icon?’

‘This one right here that I am clearly pointing at.’

‘No need to be testy. I'm just saying, it would be better if it had buttons.’

Crowley didn’t comment on that. He went on explaining.

‘Then you should set your password up.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘In case someone steals your phone. You know what, forget it. No password for now. This picture right here – that’s your contacts. I’ll put mine in now and then you can add whoever you want later.’

‘I don’t want to add anyone else. They can call me on my landline and I can answer if I ever feel so inclined. I thought this was the whole point. To reach each other when I don’t want to be bothered by other people.’

‘So you’ll have a phone with just one number on it? My number?’

‘Yes. I don’t see why not.’

‘Well, consider me flattered, angel.’

Aziraphale gave him a bright smile.

‘So here, you press this if you want to call me, yes? And this app here is for texting. If you tap here this little keypad shows up. You can send voice messages as well. And pictures or videos.’

‘Does this device have a camera?’

‘Of course it bloody does! Where have you been for the last ten years? Haven’t you seen people around taking pictures with their phones?’

‘I didn’t pay them much mind.’

‘Well, it does. So this is the back camera,’ Crowley said as he snapped a picture of the restaurant. ‘And this is the front one,’ he added as a wily thought started forming in his mind and drew his chair closer to Aziraphale to take a selfie.

‘Oh, dear! Can I see?’

Crowley passed the phone, but not before quickly sending the picture to his own phone.

Aziraphale was oblivious to that. He didn’t get how these modern contraptions worked just yet. He was very happy about the picture, though, and realised that this was the first picture they had together. None of them wanted to be in possession of physical evidence of their fraternising or whatever they wished to call it before the now averted End of Days, for fear of what both of their sides would have to say about it. They had no idea they appeared in more than a hundred pictures over the ages, safely tuckered in Heavens’ records.

But none of that mattered now. They could take as many pictures as they wanted.

‘Another!’ Aziraphale intoned merrily. ‘Let’s take another!’

‘Alright, angel. C’mere.’

Aziraphale drew his chair closer and put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. It was quite deliberate, this time. 

The demon froze for a second but didn’t further comment on it or move away, so that was a win in Aziraphale’s book. 

He snapped a couple of photos and then passed the phone back to Aziraphale for inspection, their fingers lightly brushing in the process. If he didn’t know any better, he would say that Aziraphale was doing that on purpose, like he himself had done when he passed over the books back in ’41.

‘I really love how this one turned out. Do you think I can have it framed?’

‘Wha...? Why?’

‘Well, as you’ve said, we’re friends. And, for all my denying it, I really do believe we are. Don’t people have pictures with their friends?’

‘Friends, yeah…’

‘Oh and what does this do?’

Crowley braced himself to explain the intricacies of browsing the internet to an angel who’s current computer was still, as it had been ever since he first purchased it back in the nineties, a Pentium 3.

***

Two weeks later Crowley groaned as it had all been for naught. 

He had spent the remainder of the afternoon and most parts of the evening carefully explaining things over and over again until the waiter finally came along and politely, but firmly, informed them that he would like to bugger off home sometimes this century, thank you very much. 

He thought everything would be clear after several hours of explanations. It obviously wasn’t.

For two whole weeks he had to go through the ordeal of: 1. Aziraphale’s phone calling him from his pocket; 2. the actual intentional calls getting interrupted as Aziraphale touched the screen unwittingly; 3. unfocused accidental pictures with either Aziraphale’s ear, the side of the couch, a stack of books, another stack of books, a third yet different stack of books, the first one all over again but from a different angle being first snapped then sent by accident at any and all hours of the night; 4. An hour long video whose main protagonist was the rug in front of the couch.

After the rug video he lost it. He had sat down and watched the whole thing thinking that perhaps Aziraphale had a message he wanted to convey with it. _That’s why people password protect their phone. Or even code it. So it doesn’t brush on any old surface and activates. Damn silly angel. _

He called him on his landline, for fear of Azirapahle hanging up on him by accident yet again and asked him to meet in St. James to feed the ducks.

The fact that he had nothing to feed them with was not lost on either Aziraphale or said ducks. They quacked accusingly. 

‘Angel, pass over your phone, why don’t you.’

Aziraphale passed it over and Crowley could see it was playing Youtube videos on a loop.

‘How on earth did you get it to do that?’

‘I don’t know and I can’t make it stop!’ the angel said, dejectedly. ‘I only managed to turn it down with the little button over there. The first two nights have been appalling though.’

‘That’s why you haven’t answered for the last three days? Your phone was on silent?’

‘I didn’t know what else to do!’

Crowley sighed at what he was about to do. He couldn’t believe he spent such an insane amount of money on the latest piece of technology only to turn it into this piece of crap. Not that the money mattered much, it was just the principle of the thing. He snapped his fingers and presented Aziraphale with all the exquisite glory of a Nokia brick phone. 

‘It has buttons!’ Aziraphale beamed at him.


	25. He who sees Godde wilt sayeth nay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first Prophecy comes to pass. Well, the first one concerning Angels. And seeing as time in Heaven flows differently, not even the first one out of the bunch. _A_ Prophecy comes to pass.  
The actual first Prophecy of the general variety had been about a certain demon and a certain Antichrist befriending one another. The second one had been about winning lottery numbers on a Tuesday. Which particular Tuesday was up for debate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the Angels present in this chapter are real, biblical Angels. I just took more than a couple of liberties where their personalities were concerned. They're all listed at the end of the chapter.

**Unspecified point of time because well, Heaven.  
Heaven.**

** _He who sees Godde wilt sayeth nay._ **

Pravuil was filing her nails and very loudly chewing bubble-gum with her feet perched atop the white and shiny surface of her desk. Everything was white. And shiny.

She mostly did this to stave off the boredom and she found herself bored quite often and quite easily. But she also did it because it annoyed Gabriel to no end. She quite liked seeing him annoyed.

And as anyone would do, were they absolutely certain of the stability of their job and that they could never in a million years be replaced, she took great pleasure in doing whatever crossed her mind to get under his skin.

The last thing she had done that had him slamming his office door whenever he laid eyes on her had been miracleing half of her head clean-shaved while the other was braided till her mid-back in a cacophony of colours. She had seen something similar while scrolling on that wonderful human invention called the Internet and immediately knew that would get a rise out of the Archangel. She didn’t quite like the change herself, thinking back nostalgically at her perfectly coiffed golden curls that she had rather gotten used to for the better part of the last millennia. But one needed to make sacrifices in order to excel at one’s job and by now she didn’t even lie to herself anymore that this right here was something she very much considered to be her full-time job, keeping the Archives quickly becoming more of a background pastime.

Gabriel opened his office door and his lip curled up slightly.

She smirked internally while her face remained perfectly impassive in that generally-bothered-by anything-and-everything expression most secretaries seemed to coin so well.

‘Don’t you have anything to do?’ Gabriel sneered.

‘I do, actually,’ she said as she pointed to the nail file.

‘Fine. Whatever,’ Gabriel raised his hands in defeat. He had long ago realised that pulling the rank card on her was not something that she gave two shits about. This. This right here was what happened when he was lax with them. Insubordination. Dissent. Cheek. That was exactly why he had wanted Aziraphale to be an example to the rest. Fearing for your life would be the excellent incentive in the workplace.

But then that blasted bugger went along and survived Hellfire. How the Hell had he done that he still had to figure out. But there were more ways to punish wayward Angels. One of them had proven particularly efficient back before the beginning of days. He saw no reason not to use the same method again. The old ways were the best ways, after all. Proper. Well-tested. Safe. The thing was this was not the beginning of days anymore. They had procedures. And memos. And signature lists. He needed clearance this time. But he’d be damned if he didn’t get it.

‘I want to speak to Chamuel. Do you think you can have that arranged sometime this century?’ 

She nodded distractedly. 

‘Have him come by my office.’

‘Whatever you say, boss,’ Pravuil retorted as she inspected a perfectly manicured hand.

Gabriel closed his eyes and sighed. He needed to have this done as soon as possible and maybe get a replacement where his second in command was involved. He knew he wouldn’t get one so he went back to his office, slamming the door in the process.

Pravuil smiled to herself and went on a two-day long binge of watching cat videos on Youtube before finally calling Chamuel’s department.

‘Hullo,’ could be heard from the receiving end tentatively. Not many people called on Chamuel nowadays. What would an Angel of peace do in the face of modern day violence? One would assume quite a lot actually, but one doesn’t think like an Angel. 

‘Hi Hasdiel, it’s me, Pravuil.’

‘Oh, hello, sweetheart, what have you been up to lately?’

‘Not much. Mainly just browsing the Internet, really.’

‘The…’

‘Oh, right. S’a new thing humans made.’

As a proper keeper of the records she didn’t always impart her knowledge to the other Angels. It made her have the upper hand on more than one occasion. 

But maybe sharing this particular titbit would be beneficial in a way. Little wheels started turning in her mind as she imagined Angels in all departments slacking off indefinitely, watching reality TV shows and cooking tutorials and funny animal videos. She could see it in her mind’s eye. All of them sitting idly by, forgetting to send this memo or that. It would make her job as record keeper a million times easier.

‘What about you, Hasdiel?’

‘Oh, I’ve taken up knitting.’

Pravuil snorted. Of course she would take up knitting of all things. She was the embodiment of everyone’s well meaning aunt. You know the one. Bakes cakes and sends handmade cards and probably does macrame.

‘That’s lovely. Listen, I need to speak with Chamuel. Is he in?’

‘He just got in. I’ll put you through, why don’t I?’

_From where exactly did he just get in_, Pravuil didn’t ask. They were really bored, all of them rendered to useless paper-pushers.

‘Hello there,’ Pravuil heard the most endearing voice she had ever had the pleasure of hearing chime happily from the receiver.

‘Hi. Sorry to bother you, it’s just Gabriel wanted to speak with you about something.’

‘My office hours are up on the schedule. He can pop in any time he likes.’

‘The thing is, he wanted to see you in his office,’ Pravuil cringed. She took it for what it was. A display of superiority. Or, better put, a dick measuring contest. Chamuel was having none of it.

‘I’m more than happy to welcome him here, whenever he sees fit,’ he said with a note of finality that was not lost on her, despite his honeyed tone.

‘I’ll pass it over. It’s been a pleasure talking to you.’ 

‘Likewise. You can call anytime, be it Gabriel related or something more pleasant altogether.’

Pravuil frowned a bit. Of course it was a delight to press on each and every button when Gabriel was concerned but she very much liked Chamuel and didn’t want to be caught up in the middle while their power dynamic game played out.

Three days later Gabriel popped over.

‘Any news from Chamuel yet?’

‘Oh, right. He said you should pop by his whenever you want.’

‘Pravuil, I swear to….no matter. Did you tell him I expected him to come _here_?'

‘I did. He didn’t seem to be a fan of the idea.’ 

‘And when exactly did you plan on telling me?’ 

‘Whenever you asked me, of course,’ she replied on the sweetest tone she could manage. 

‘Well, call him again. I want to see him here.’ 

‘I already told him -’ 

‘Tell him again!’ he all but yelled. 

She tried to calm down all the little voices screaming inside her head. 

‘Of course.’ 

A week passed and Gabriel inquired about Chamuel yet again. She hadn’t called him. _Obviously_. The Archangel had made his position very clear, for all that Gabriel didn’t believe her. 

‘Oh, he said no, again,’ she replied dismissively. 

‘And when exactly was I to find out about this new information?’ 

‘Like I said -’ 

‘My office door is just there, Pravuil! All you need to do is move your lazy ass for five steps and inform me!’ 

She took a deep breath and counted to ten. 

‘Call him again. Let’s set a meeting on neutral ground. Wherever he likes. Consider it my treat,’ he added with a shallow smile that never reached his eyes. 

Pravuil rolled her eyes as he got back to his office and fought the urge to make a rude hand gesture. 

‘Hi, Hasdiel, it’s me again,’ she said into the mouthpiece, by now wanting to end this nonsense as soon as possible. 

‘Again? Oh, this must be quite a pressing matter.’ 

Pravuil had enough sense not to point out that a week and a half had passed. Time worked differently in Heaven, after all, and no one had called Chamuel’s department in centuries. 

‘I’ll put you through.’ 

‘Hello, it’s Pravuil. Again. Gabriel said he’ll meet you wherever you want, just not your office.’ 

‘He’s being stubborn.’ 

_Well, so are you_, was not something that Pravuil wanted to say, especially not to Chamuel, but she still thought it. 

‘Fine. Tomorrow at noon. The cantina. Tell him not to be late.’ 

‘I’ll pass the message.’ 

Pravuil put down the phone, stretched for a bit and then picked up the phone again and called Gabriel. 

‘Are you for real?’ could be heard as Gabriel bellowed from his office. ‘The door is right here!’ he shouted some more as he opened said door and pointed at it. 

‘Now that you’re here – Chamuel said tomorrow noon at the cantina. He said you shouldn’t be late.’ 

‘Good. And for God’s sake take your feet off the desk!’ 

***

The cantina was, of course, white. And shiny. Everything was. 

There was a long counter top and a till you could pull trays over. Why the counter top was so long, no one actually knew, as the options in the food department were rather limited, so there was no need for such a long display of basically the same thing. Which was manna. 

In the corner of the cantina though, there was a brightly lit and comically colourful Hot Dog stand that most of the young Angels took a liking to. It had been set up by Cahethal as he wanted to try something new. He didn’t have to preside over agriculture anymore as humans had machines in charge of that now, so no miracles were any longer needed in that department. Not to mention that more than half of the foodstuff the humans consumed had never ever seen an open field or a living animal. The inside of a chemistry lab, now that was something altogether familiar. 

In the other corner of the cantina, Kutiel had set up a coffee stand and the queue was quite noteworthy. 

From behind the till of the long counter top Anapiel threw both of them death stares. None of the two entrepreneurial Angels could be bothered by that, seeing as all of Heaven had feasted on nothing but manna for thousands of years. It was bound to get old at some point. Cahethal was already considering switching to pizza in about ten years’ time. 

_Get on with the times_, they had both told Anapiel when she threatened them with complaints to HR. _Good luck with that getting sorted out this century._

HR had indeed intervened when Cahethal had threatened to take his stand elsewhere after Anapiel tried to sabotage him the hundredth time. No, no. _The cantina was just fine, thank you very much. And, oh, Anapiel, please say sorry to your fellow Angel, why don’t you?_

They didn’t want any of that gross matter – _what was it called, again – ah, yes, ketchup_ staining anything. 

Gabriel was deliberately late. Almost twenty minutes as of now. He checked his watch, smirked and entered the cantina. A lot of Angels were milling about but there was no sign of Chamuel anywhere. 

He sat down at an empty table in the middle of it and crossed his hands across his chest. Had Chamuel had enough of waiting and left before he got here? No, that didn’t seem his style. _Don’t be late_, he remembered Pravuil saying. No, the bastard would be even more tardy than he had been on purpose. He briefly considered leaving. But then again, what would he accomplish with that? He was the one asking for a favour. Well, not a favour, per say, but he was the one asking, nonetheless. 

Ten minutes later Chamuel arrived, caught sight of him, waved at him and proceeded to go to the Hot Dog stand where he politely stood in line although several Angels insisted that he went before them. 

He looked like the nicest person you could possibly have the pleasure of encountering. He had short amber curls that framed his face just right and bright hazel eyes that seemed to sparkle an awful lot. He was clad in a bright baby blue ensemble that was not as formal as what Gabriel wore at all times. His shirtsleeves were even rolled up above his elbows like he had been doing manual labour, Gabriel was appalled to notice. Were he human, he would probably be one of those people who would put their whole life on hold to go volunteering in Africa or help rebuild stuff after a hurricane. He seemed unfazed about spending the time in line. 

Gabriel fumed. He waited for another fifteen minutes before Chamuel finally sat down at the table, depositing three hot dogs on its surface and smearing ketchup on it in the process. 

_Huh, seems like the people in HR are right on the money on this_, Chamuel thought as he cleaned it with a napkin. 

‘Gabriel!’ he intoned in his sing-song voice. ‘A pleasure, as always! Sorry to keep you waiting but you know how it is. Busy, busy, busy.’ 

_With what exactly_, he didn’t feel the need to share. 

‘There’s a reason I wanted to speak to you, Chamuel.’ 

‘Oh, is it?’ Chamuel asked, stuffing his face full of hot dog. 

_Oh, so this was the reason he had wanted to meet in the cantina?_ Everybody knew how grossed out Gabriel was by what he defined as gross matter while all the normal Angels defined as foodstuff. 

‘It concerns the Principality Aziraphale.’ 

‘The one who helped stop that Godawful war? Good chap, that,’ Chamuel said, by now on his second hot dog. ‘I like Cahethal a lot, but between you and me he just can’t get the flavour exactly right. Now last time I was in New York, oh, let me tell you about that. I ate the best -’ 

‘_What do you mean_, 'good chap that'?’ Gabriel all but screamed. 

A couple of heads turned their way. _This was the second reason why Chamuel chose the cantina_. It was too bloody crowded. He couldn’t make a scene. 

‘Gabriel, I know we haven’t spoken in quite some time, but I hope you still remember what it is I stand for.’ 

Gabriel huffed. 

‘I’m the Archangel of Peace, Gabriel. I’ll always support people who bring it about.’ 

‘That’s awfully nice of you, but this goes against the Great Plan.’ 

‘I really don’t see how the Great Plan would warrant all that death and destruction. Surely She wouldn’t want that. She spent so much time creating it all, why would She want it all blown up?’ 

‘I am not here to discuss Her motivations, whatever those are. I am also not here so you can put doubt into my mind. I am however here to have you sign this.’ 

He extended the file he had been gripping with tight fists throughout Chamuel’s disgusting display of disobedience. 

‘And what exactly is this?’ 

‘A list of signatures. We will have Aziraphale Fall for what he did.’ 

‘And what if I don’t sign?’ 

_I’ll have you all Fall, each and every last one of you rebellious shits!_ Gabriel’s eyes screamed. 

‘There’ll be a strongly worded note.’ 

‘Strongly worded notes are my bread and butter by now. Not that you would know what those are,’ Chamuel’s honeyed tone shifted ever so slightly. He was an Archangel as well and Gabriel had no actual power over him, for all he thought he did. And even the Avatar of Peace had enough mind to realise when he was being threatened. 

‘I will not be responsible for a second Fall. I wasn’t for the first one, I kept well away from that horrible mess and I will not be for any other one you hateful lot come up with. You can tell Michael as much,’ he sneered as he looked down on Michael’s name scribbled all prim and proper on the second line of the paper before him, just under Gabriel’s. ‘Loving Angels of the Lord _my arse_.’ 

Another couple of Angels risked stolen glances at them as Chamuel threw the file in Gabriel’s face and stormed out of the cantina, third hot dog long forgotten. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel Protagonists, or at least mentioned:  
Gabriel – messanger Archangel. ‘The Strength of God’  
Chamuel – Archangel of Peace. ‘He who sees God’  
Pravuil – Angel in charge of the records of Heaven  
Hasidiel – Angel of benevolence  
Cahethal – Angel that rules over agriculture  
Kutiel – Angel of water  
Anapiel – Angel whose name means ‘The branch of God’


	26. An Antichrist and a not Antichrist get to know each other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did any of you guys feel the need for more gratuitous Crowley interacting with children in the future? Well then, let's throw Warlock back in the mix, why don't we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God fucking dammit! I just wanted to do a minor edit and ended up deleting and reuploading the whole chapter since I'm shit with coding and ended up messing the whole thing up really bad. Lost comments and everything.

**Wednesday. A month after the end of the world. 6pm.  
The Youngs’ residence. Interior.**

Adam was playing Mario Kart on his phone after one of his apple heists had gone sour and his parents had grounded him for two days when said phone started ringing.

It wasn’t any of his saved numbers which he could count on his fingers. Those numbers included: Crowley’s mobile, Crowley’s landline, Aziraphale’s number, Anathema's, Pepper’s, Brian’s, Wensley’s, his own landline and R.P.Tyler’s number for when he would feel like prank calling.

This number in particular was new.

‘Hello,’ was what he drew a deep breath to say but the person on the other end was slightly more impatient.

‘Nanny?!’

‘Um, no. I think you got the wrong number. I’m Adam, by the way.’

‘Warlock,’ the voice replied on a sad tone.

‘That’s a strange name.’

‘Well, it’s the only one I’ve got,’ the boy replied testily.

‘No, I don’t mean it like that! I like strange.’

‘Well, that’s nice of you to say,’ the boy said, the whole name business obviously a sore spot. ‘I should be hanging up now. This is so weird. Mum said this was the right number for sure,’ he continued more for his own sake than for Adam’s benefit.

‘Wait, don’t hang up!’ Adam urged, complex mathematics taking place in his head. Crowley had told him about them both trying to raise who they believed was the Antichrist at that time. Could this be….?

‘How old are you?’

‘Eleven, why?’

‘And this nanny of yours, does she happen to be tall, skinny and ginger?’

‘Yes! And she has cat eyes!’

‘Snake.’

‘Cat.’

‘Trust me, they’re snake eyes. Look, it doesn’t matter.’

‘Do you know her?’

‘Yeah, that’s just Crowley.’ 

Warlock remembered hearing brother Francis calling her that on countless occasions when they snuck around the back of the house, trying, and failing, to be inconspicuous. Just because he was a kid didn’t mean he was deaf. Or stupid.

‘Yes! That’s right!’

‘He’s a friend. He gave me his phone, that’s why you called this number.’

‘Makes sense.’

‘Are you American?’

‘Yeah, but I’m staying in London.’

‘That’s alright, then.’

‘What’s alright?’

‘I’m coming to London next week. Crowley’s taking me to the Royal Observatory. You can come too, if you want.’

‘Really? I’d love to! If that’s alright with you that is. I don’t want to spoil the day you two had planned.’

‘That’s rubbish. I always like making new friends. And none of my other friends could come, so it’ll be just the two of us. And I’m sure Crowley’s going to be happy to see you.’

‘When are you going? I’ll have to ask my mum if she’d let me come.’

That was complete nonsense. Of course she’d let him go. In between his father’s visits to the U.S. and her constant charity work they maybe spent three days in total as a normal family in the span of one month. They’d welcomed any occasion where they could pass him over to someone else for the day. But despite all of this, they had both arrived to the conclusion that eleven was a tad too old for having a nanny any more. So he spent most of his days cooped up inside the mansion by himself. Even if his mother would object, which Warlock doubted very much, he’d throw such a massive fit that she’d be forced to agree to it eventually.

‘We’re going next Saturday.’

_Jackpot!_ Saturday his mother had her hands full with those ghastly hags that did flower arrangements.

‘But before then, I think I ought to tell you something,’ Adam bit his lip and fiddled with his fingers as he prepared to rattle Warlock’s entire existence. He had briefly considered keeping it a secret, but that went against everything he believed in. Knowing was better than not knowing ten times out of ten.

‘What?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘I’ve got time, if you do as well.’ Time was something he had heaps of.

‘Yeah, I do. I’m grounded.’

‘That sucks,’ Warlock commented in sympathy whilst never having been grounded for a day in his life.

It took more than an hour as Adam wasn’t the kind of kid to miss any of the important bits and well, maybe the unimportant ones as well. Ten minutes were spent talking about Dog.

‘Wow!’ Warlock said after Adam finished recounting the last eleven years.

‘Yeah, wow.’

‘So that makes us what? Half-brothers?’

‘Dunno. Whatever we want to be, I guess. I thought you’d be more upset.’

‘What’s there to be upset about? S’just how things are. I won’t make anything better if I get upset about it.’

‘Most adults would be.’

‘Most adults are shits,’ Warlock supplied.

Adam’s grin went from ear to ear.

‘See you on Saturday, then.’

‘See ya. Oh, and Adam?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You’re being very nice. To someone you’ve just met,’ he added while the unspoken ‘for the son of Satan’ hung over both their heads. They didn’t need to speak of it since they both knew it was there.  


‘I told you, I like making new friends. See you Saturday. Observatory. Two o’clock. You can call me anytime you want.’

‘I will. Bye.’

_An angel and a demon, huh?_ It was rather obvious now that he thought about it and had all the puzzle pieces in front of him. He didn’t expect many people to be able to brag about being raised by and angel and a demon, so there was that. He apparently was adopted or misplaced of whatever it was he was, to there was that as well.

But he would choose having his parents be absent all they wanted if they kept showering him with laptops and tablets and Gameboys any day of the week. Adam had seemed enthralled that he even had a phone to begin with. Warlock changed his phones every six months, on the mark. Nah, he’d never give this up for boring old Tadfield, wherever that was. He didn’t do rural, not if he could help it.


	27. It does wonders, being raised by a demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Crowley & Warlock get-together that no one particularly asked for but I felt like writing anyway, because, by this point, I completely gave up on any story structure I had envisioned and just let it have a life of its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no actual plot. Just a demon, an Antichrist and a very-nearly-were-it-not-for-that-cockup-eleven-years-ago-Antichrist spending their day out.

**Saturday. Five weeks after the end of the world. 1:30pm.  
Victoria Station. Exterior.**

A week and a half later Newt drove Adam to Victoria Station to meet Crowley. Anathema was already at that environment convention she had talked incessantly about for the past month.

Adam sprung out of the car as soon as the engine stopped, although he could have done that at any point of the ride without a scratch and would have actually arrived sooner on foot. That was what it felt like, at least.

‘Hey there, Hellspawn! You seem chipper.’

‘Yeah, school has been a bore all week. But it’s okay now that we’re finally here,’ this was said with a raised eyebrow towards Newt as if he could possibly control the Wasabi’s maximum speed of 30 miles per hour.

‘Alright, hop in,’ Crowley said as he opened the passenger’s door for Adam. ‘Bookgirl’s boyfriend, see you tomorrow at four.’

‘I have a name, you know?’

Crowley shrugged like he couldn’t be bothered.

‘Tomorrow. Four.’

‘Yes, alright,’ Newt replied dejectedly.

When they had all left Tadfield the plan had been to spent the night at his mum’s place, the three of them. That was what they had told Adam’s parents as well. They seemed alright with that. They had taken a liking to Anathema quick enough and trusted her with Adam’s safekeeping for the weekend. And a trip to the Royal Observatory was not something they had the time or the money to take. But it was something they thought Adam would benefit from at this stage in his life.

As soon as they reached Oxford, Adam proudly declared that he would spend the evening at Crowley’s place. He didn’t comment on that, expecting Anathema to be the one to object. She didn’t.

‘Oh, you’ve seen how he is with kids,’ she said after he stared at her for half an hour, eyebrow raised. ‘Don’t you give me that look.’

‘But he’s a demon!’

‘One that’s bestfriends or whatever it is they are with an angel,’ she still had to figure that part out. ‘And one that helped stop the bloody Apocalypse. Get with the times, honey.’

‘Fine. You’re the one supposed to be his guardian. You’re talking to the Youngs if anything happens.’

‘Nothing’s gonna happen.’

‘Last time you nearly bit my head off for having him drive the lot around.’

‘Yeah, well,’ she intoned intelligently as she didn’t want to admit to anyone other than herself that maybe the car accident before the Apocalypse had been a tad her own fault as well.

‘And after I asked my mum to prepare the guestroom as well.’

‘What do you mean, as well?’

‘Well, we’re staying there?’

‘Whatever gave you that impression?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe you telling the Youngs we’ll all be spending the night there?’

‘That was just me lying to them!’ Anathema raised her hands, exasperated. She quickly realised this was maybe reprehensible behaviour in front of a kid so she turned to the backseat. ‘Adam, lying is very, very wrong.’

Adam rolled his eyes and continued to play whatever it was he was playing on his phone, apparently not paying any of them any particular mind.

‘Are you for real?’

‘Are you, honey? Spending the night at your mum’s? I mean…wow.’

‘What?’

‘I know we’ve been rather unorthodox in this relationship, what with the…you know,’ she gestured as she didn’t want to state what that particular ‘you know’ was in front of an eleven-year-old. ‘And with you moving in with me so soon, but I absolutely am not ready to meet your mother yet.’

‘She’s going to be very upset.’

‘Your problem, not mine.’

The rest of the drive was spent in sullen silence that was only broken a couple of times when a loud chink of coins announced that Adam had reached the next level of whatever it was that he was playing.

‘Bye Adam. Mister Crowley,’ Newt sighed as he turned back to the Wasabi. He had to drive over to his mother’s house and inform her that no, she wouldn’t meet his girlfriend this time either. If he knew his mother as well as he thought he did then she must have surely prepared a feast. He could almost hear the disappointment in her voice. He got inside the car and started driving, for once being very happy that it would take an eternity to get there.

Crowley also got into the car and floored the acceleration.

‘How've you been, kid?’

‘Alright, I suppose. I made a new friend.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘Can I play any music?’

‘You can try, although I should warn you it all has the tendency to be Queen’s hit songs.’

Adam reached for the same CD the Them had listened to the last time as he found he quite liked the Beatles. As soon as he placed it into the slot on the dashboard, ‘Yellow Submarine’ started playing.

This, of course, could have been explained two ways: first one being Adam still retained most of his powers and if he wanted to listen to something, he would listen to that something; second one being the Bentley was a little shit.

Although the first one was a very valid possibility, Crowley expected the second one to be true.

They reached the Royal Observatory so fast they might have well teleported.

Crowley got out of his car and made his way towards the entrance. Adam stayed by the car.

‘Kid, what’s the matter? Come on.’

‘I told you I’ve made a new friend. Thing is -’

Adam didn’t get to finish his sentence as something, or rather someone crashed into Crowley like a bloody tornado and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist so tightly that, were he human, he would have difficulty breathing.

This was all accompanied by a _‘Nanny!’_ shouted so loudly that Crowley thought people in the Americas would file a noise complaint.

‘Warlock, do behave. I’m sorry about all of this, nanny A…oh. _Oh_!’

Crowley looked up only to meet Mrs. Dowling’s shocked stare. Then he looked down at Warlock’s long hair as his face was buried in Crowley’s coat.

‘Hello, Mrs. Dowling,’ was all he could come up with at the moment as his hand involuntarily started stroking Warlock’s hair.

‘Hello, nan…um, what should I call you? I don’t want to offend,’ she supplied as her mind put two and two together and arrived to the conclusion that the answer was twenty-two.

‘Um…Crowley?’

‘Alright then miss…mister…um, Crowley. Which do you prefer?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘I suppose it doesn’t. Um, yeah.’

Both Adam and Warlock rolled their eyes. Adults trying to put labels on things was both hilarious and utterly annoying at the same time. Especially since Crowley was an occult entity that didn’t need to conform to any societal norms, not that Mrs. Dowling knew any of that, of course.

‘But how? So soon…you’ve only left us a month ago. Those hormone treatments must be really doing wonders.’

‘The miracle of modern medicine,’ Crowley stated bluntly and he could swear he felt Warlock smirking into his blazer.

‘Um, yeah.’

She seemed caught on a loop.

‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ Crowley tried to get her to snap out of said loop.

‘Warlock said he’d meet you here and that he missed you terribly.’

‘Maaa,’ Warlock wailed in embarrassment.

‘Well, you did. But it seems like we’re imposing,’ she said as she caught sight of Adam.

‘No, no. I don’t mind,’ Adam replied, all smiles. Crowley could recognise it for what it was. Adam using his hellish powers to convince Mrs. Dowling.

‘Well, if it’s alright with you, then I suppose I have nothing against it. It’s educational. Much like those dinosaurs were, Warlock,’ she chastised him.

‘Yeah, but nanny wasn’t around then.’

Mrs. Dowling fought the urge to roll her eyes and cross her hands.

‘It’s more than alright. I already have my hands full with one rascal that seemed to forget to mention a couple of things.’

Adam shrugged.

‘Oh, and I’ve also missed the little devil.’

Mrs. Dowling nodded. Her son had his moments when it seemed like he was sent directly from Hell to torment her.

‘So you’re sure this is alright…Crowley?’

‘Yeah, it’s no problem. I wanna take the other little Hellspawn on a drive after, maybe stop for food. If you don’t have any other plans with Warlock for the day?’

‘Of course. Just have him back at the mansion come evening. I see you’re still driving that amazing museum piece.’

The Bentley’s engine revved although there was no key attached to it.

‘Don’t compliment her. She’s spoiled enough as it is.’

Mrs. Dowling smiled. This was safe enough territory.

‘You have my number?’

‘I do.’

‘Alright then, honey, promise me you won’t be an absolute menace. Your nanny isn’t paid for this, he…um, yeah…just does it because…he’s nice.’

Crowley’s jaw was set so tight it might break rock.

‘Best behaviour, promise,’ Warlock said on a particular tone of voice that Crowley recalled as meaning nothing but trouble. It warmed his demonic heart.

‘Warlock, honey, if you need anything, call me. Thank you so much,’ she said as she gently caressed Warlock’s hair, gaze turned to Crowley.

‘Not a problem.’

And then she was gone.

‘Hellspawn,’ Crowley turned to Adam. ‘I do believe I’m owed an explanation.’

‘I did tell you I made a friend.’

‘How magnanimous of you,’ Crowley rolled his eyes.

Warlock was looking at him properly now and raised his hands to remove Crowley’s glasses.

‘Cat!’ he exclaimed proudly.

‘Snake,’ Adam replied.

‘Snake,’ Crowley confirmed.

‘See? I told you.’

‘What do you little devils want to do?’

‘Go see the stars!’ Adam intoned as Warlock tightly clasped Crowley’s hand as if to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere.

‘I know quite a bit about them, you know,’ the demon bragged before risking a look at Adam as if to ask him if Warlock was in possession of the whole story. 

Adam nodded with a wide smile. _Yup, up to date as anything_. Of course Adam couldn’t keep his mouth shut about the existence of supernatural entities. It was a very Adam thing to do, when you thought about it. Not that Crowley could be bothered to give a shit about it at the moment.

‘I helped create some of them,’ he said smugly.

‘Then you have to tell us all about them!’ Adam beamed.

‘What do you want to do after, is what I meant.’

‘Eat pizza!’

‘Go to Thorpe Park!’ 

Adam and Warlock said at the same time.

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s an amusement park,’ Warlock explained.

‘Oh, then definitely do that. And then eat pizza.’

They ended up so full of cotton candy and slurpees that pizza was no longer an option. Sure, the Planetarium had been great, but they were still a couple of eleven-year-old kids, so the amusement park was far greater.

‘Maybe later, kid,’ Crowley told a pouting Adam. ‘I did say we’re marathoning all the good James Bond movies, didn’t I?’

Warlock looked from one to the other with a sad expression on his face.

‘Can’t Warlock stay as well?’ Adam used the best and most effective puppy eyes in his repertoire.

‘If his mum lets him then sure.’

‘That’s easy,’ Warlock said as he pulled out his phone from the pocket of his jacket. ‘Hey mum. I’m staying at Crowley’s place tonight. We’re watching movies.’

‘What do you mean you’re staying at….you know what, honey, pass Crowley on the phone, please.’

‘Hello Mrs. Dowling.’

‘Hello. I really don’t with to impose. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.’

Crowley did. It was all those years of being raised up by a demon. That tends to inspire oneself to be contrary just for the sake of being contrary.

‘It’s really not a problem. Adam’s spending the night as well. And yeah, we’re watching movies.’

‘Are you his…’ she left her question unfinished for him to fill in the gaps.

Crowley thought back to his conversation with Aziraphale eleven years ago. Yeah, that seemed like a perfectly logical explanation as to why he, by all intents and purposes, a grown man, was spending time with a kid, Antichrist or not.

‘I’m his godfather.’

‘Oh that’s lovely! Um, are you sure there’s no trouble?’

He could feel the hope in her tone. She really wanted Warlock out of her hair for the evening, of that he was certain. 

Hariett Dowling had actually declined a fun night out with the girls seeing as her husband was yet again abroad and she didn’t feel like letting Warlock all on his own in the mansion for the night. But the invitation had sounded very good indeed. Said ‘girls’ were the wives of several other cultural attachés and really, not a single one of them could be described as a ‘girl’ seeing as she was the youngest one of the lot. But they were all some rowdy pieces of work when they went out and let their hair down, so to speak. So having Warlock spend the night at his nanny's, well used-to-be nanny for eleven years, would apparently solve everybody’s problems. And she really did trust nanny A…um, Crowley with the well being of her child. Had depended on it for all of Warlock’s life. To Hariett Dowling, Crowley seemed like a godsend. She had no idea how completely wrong she was in that respect.

‘It’s fine. I can drop him off tomorrow afternoon when I’m dropping Adam off as well.’

_Afternoon?_ Whatever did she do to deserve such a reprieve? Not from Warlock, mind you, she loved her son dearly, even if he was a little shit at times. But from having to deal with him while also dealing with the massive hangover that she would sport for half a day. She accepted the hangover as a given fact. She knew how any and all of the evenings out with the girls turned out in the end.

‘Well then, call if you need anything.’

‘Will do,’ Crowley said and passed the phone back to Warlock.

‘You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?’

‘And you have no one else but yourself to blame for that,’ Warlock gave him the most devilish smile an eleven-years-old could muster.


	28. There's a first time for everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has everyone's POVs so it's a bit of a mess. But we get to see a bit more Crowley-Warlock interactions and I quite like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warlock is trying his best - and failing, obviously, but through no fault of his own - to be a good wingman. This is not the first - as I imagine him trying to get the two disasters together even before they left the Dowlings' service - nor will it be the last time he does exactly that.

**Saturday. Five weeks after the end of the world. 10pm.  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

The convention had been an absolute blast and seeing as Newt had quite a hard time appeasing his mother, Anathema found herself with some hours to spare until she needed to go back to the hotel room that she had booked, despite her boyfriend’s misgivings. So she found herself lounging on Aziraphale’s very old, but very comfortable sofa, in the backroom of the shop.

‘The point is,’ she gestured widely with her wineglass in a manner that was oddly reminiscent of Crowley’s drunk ramblings. ‘The point…what were we talking about? Oh, right, Newt. He’s being difficult about this. That’s the point.’

‘You humans do have this wonderful habit of showing your loved ones off. Maybe that’s all he was planning on doing.’

‘It’s been _a month_, Aziraphale. I can’t just waltz up there and meet his mum. I mean, _a month_!’

He of all people, being a supernatural entity and the like, could at least acknowledge that a month was almost nothing in the great scheme of things.

‘I mean what would I even say. _Tally ho_, or whatever it is you guys say, ‘tis I Anathema. Remember the End of Days? Of course you don’t, because it didn’t happen. But it was around that time that I wooed your son with my witchy wiles and now we live together in a quaint little cottage in the countryside. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. What if she asked me how we met? Or anything really. I was just a task on legs for so long I don’t even know where to start acting normal. Feeling normal. It was always about me trying to stop the Apocalypse and then it suddenly wasn’t anymore. Is it so awful of me that I need more time to figure everything out?’

‘No, my dear, of course it isn’t. But I think you should tell him all of this.’

‘Donwanna.’

She drained the remaining wine in her cup and started searching for the bottle.

‘I know it must be very hard for you to appear vulnerable. Especially after having to be so tough for all of your life, what with that huge burden placed on your shoulders. But it’s not bad to be vulnerable every once in a while. It’s so very human. And human is always good. Well, not always-’ he was about to launch himself in a polemic about the trials and tribulations of humanity when an annoying little sound started playing.

Anathema looked around, confused. Aziraphale also seemed confused for a moment or so.

‘Oh, right. Forgot about that,’ he said as he made his way to his overcrowded desk and fished out a phone from one of the drawers.

‘Hello, dear,’ Anathema could hear the angel answer what seemed to her slightly dizzy mind to look like an old Nokia. She snorted. Of course Aziraphale would have a museum piece of a mobile phone.

‘Angel!’ could be heard quite enthusiastically from the speaker. ‘You’re not gonna believe who I bumped into. Well, not actually bumped into, more like had a certain someone scheme around my back to meet them.’

‘I’m sure you will surprise me, dear.’

‘It’s Warlock! He’s been dying to talk to you. Has been bugging me all day.’

And yes, Crowley did surprise him.

‘Brother Francis?’

‘Hello there, dear boy!’

‘His actual name’s Aziraphale,’ he could hear Crowley saying in the background. 

‘Aziraphale? Wow, and I thought I had a weird name,’ Warlock’s voice was sounding a bit far off. Apparently Crowley took hold of the phone yet again.

‘Why would you go and tell him my -’

‘Listen, angel, it’s not like I go around telling humans the precise nature of what we actually are, but apparently this little shit called Adam doesn’t seem to mind doing that.’

‘Is Adam there as well? Wait, where are you exactly?’

‘Home. We’re watching movies. I could send you a photo with the boys. Oh wait, I can’t, can I? What with your phone dating back to the 10th century.’

‘Well I like it. It has butons. And I’m sure you can send one to Anathema’s phone.’

‘Wait, is Anathema there?’ this time it was Adam speaking.

‘How is it that you can all hear me?’

‘You’re on speaker, angel. Get on with the times.’

‘I can send her a photo!’ Adam chimed in.

A couple of seconds later Anathema’s phone stared buzzing. Adam had sent her three photos and an accidental video that was both shifty and hazy and figured mostly a mass of limbs, while the other boy’s voice, Warlock was it, could be heard over Adam’s giggles yelping something like ‘give me that’.

She offered the phone to Aziraphale who looked at the pictures with so much fondness it was almost palpable.

The fist one was mostly Adam’s golden locks while in the background Warlock could be seen sneaking over Crowley to take the phone away. The second one was Warlock smiling widely into the camera as Adam’s hand obscured his eyes, clearly reaching to get the phone back. The third one however was of both the boys sitting primly on the couch as if they hadn’t just engaged in a tug-of-war over the phone. Crowley must have taken that one. Adam was wearing blue pyjamas with little ducks on them while Warlock sported black silk ones. Aziraphale was certain he had come by them via demonic intervention. Both of them were smiling and Warlock’s hand was even immortalised while doing a little wave.

‘Is that the boy you told me about?’

‘Yes, yes it is. Spent the last eleven years with him. He is such a darling boy.’

Anathema wanted to point out that, judging by the look on the boy’s face, Crowley had achieved a great deal more than Aziraphale where influences were concerned. That boy would grow up to be a proper nuisance, albeit that nuisance being of the Crowley variety. Sarcasm and dry wit with just a bit of everyday nastiness sprinkled on top. She didn’t get the chance as Aziraphale’s phone started ringing yet again.

‘Angel! You hung up.’

‘Well, you said you were sending pictures over. Which are lovely, by the way. Say hello to the boys for me. Or can they hear me? Hello boys!’

‘Yeah they can hear you. We were sending pictures from another phone to another phone, why on Earth would you hang up…you know what, it’s fine.’

‘Maybe you can all pop over by the bookshop tomorrow. We can have tea.’

‘Ngk.’

‘You have a bookshop? Wicked! Crowley, can we go? Please, pleaaaase,’ Warlock’s wailed in the background.

‘Yeah, maybe he has magazines like Anathema has. Can we go?’ Adam joined in.

‘Another time maybe.’

This was said with a note of finality that was not lost on either Aziraphale or the two boys. 

For his part Aziraphale felt a little hurt. Especially since Adam took hold of the phone right after and, without any of the protests an eleven-year-old would put up, wished him a ‘good evening, mister Fell’ and ended the call.

He sighed and placed the phone on the coffee table as he made his way back to his armchair.

‘He seems very good with children,’ Anathema said, her head spinning.

‘Yes, he is. Always has been. Children are a curious bunch and well, Crowley has always liked asking questions,’ Aziraphale commented with a sad smile.

‘Is that why…’ she didn’t finish the question but gestured vaguely downwards.

‘I think that’s rather personal, dear. You should ask him.’

‘I didn’t mean to offend. S’just fascinating, is all. Angels and demons and all that. And the both of you being friends for so long,’ Anathema trailed off wanting to add _‘And you being in love with him but being too much of a wuss to say anything,’_ but she had dozed off by that point, starting to snore lightly. Sure, she had bested several of her quarterback colleagues back in college at those awful frat-parties when it came to downing booze, but being an immortal being of 6000 years gave you a slight advantage in the alcohol consumption department. 

*** 

Adam put the phone aside and moved a bit closer to where Crowley was sprawled on the couch.

‘We won’t go, if you don’t want to, there’s no reason to get upset.’

Warlock, who wasn’t as polite and understanding as Adam and who also wasn’t in possession of all of the information, pouted.

‘It’s just…I’ve seen it all burn down to a crisp. I can still feel the taste in my mouth when I think about it. Whenever I consider going back there I just see flames all around. I just can’t…’

Crowley’s voice was on the verge of breaking. Adam nodded and made his way to Crowley’s side.

‘It’s okay. You said you wanted to see the next movie, anyway. What was it?’

‘Goldfinger.’

‘Let’s see that.’

Warlock raised his hands in confusion but Adam shook his head slightly as if to indicate this was a story for later. Warlock shrugged in response and grabbed the bowl of popcorn.

An hour or so later when both Crowley and Adam were fast asleep on the couch, Warlock got up and ordered some pizza. He had nicked his mother’s credit card earlier and he planned to make the most of it. When the pizza came he started playing the next movie, and then the next. Crowley’s collection was quite extensive. At some point, feeling generous, he went and gathered the forgotten blanket that Crowley had miracled into existence at the beginning of the night and covered the two up. After the third movie, when the light of day slowly started filtering in he decided he should probably get some sleep too so he went exploring around the house to find the bedroom. He wasn’t going to spend the night, well what was left of it, on the couch like some pleb.

The bed was quite comfortable and the sheets were to die for. He made a mental note to bug his mum to buy him some just like these.

*** 

Crowley got up sometime around noon and blinked in confusion. First about his whereabouts. He was on his couch. That was sorted out. Then about why there was a weight sprawled on his left side. He looked down and noticed Adam’s curls, and then the rest of him, hugging him tightly. There was a blanket spread haphazardly around them. That had to be Warlock’s doing. Speaking of the devil, where exactly was the little menace?

Crowley tried to disentangle his feet from Adam’s and went on a quest to find the other kid. He found him soon enough in his bedroom sprawled over the whole bed like he owned the place.

He then went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Lunch? Whatever it was. The boys would appreciate it all the same. It wasn’t as if he was making something for Aziraphale and needed to be very skilful with his cooking. Just a common omelette would do, he told himself dismissively while thoughts of cooking breakfast for Aziraphale and all that would entail plagued his mind.

At some point or other Warlock made his way to the kitchen nibbling on some cold leftover pizza.

‘Watcha ya making?’ he asked while stiffling a yawn.

‘Breakfast,’ Crowley said his back turned to him, making sure the eggs wouldn’t stick to the pan.

‘It’s lunchtime.’

‘Lunch, then.’

‘Never had omelettes for lunch.’

Crowley turned and gave him the most severe look he had managed as a nanny. Warlock didn’t seem impressed. He rolled his eyes and went back to preparing breakfast. _Or lunch_. A meal. _Let’s settle on that_.

‘There’s a first time for everything, now ain’t it?’

‘I guess,’ Warlock said and a smile crept up his face. _Two could play at this game_ and he felt like he should have the upper hand. He wasn’t quite over the fact that they had both left him when they realised he wasn’t the right boy. Of course, his parents had their hand in this, thinking that a nanny was not something an eleven-year-old needed any longer. But they could have called. They were both of them the closest to an actual family he ever had, what with both his parents being busy all the time. _And not being his actual parents to begin with_, a small voice supplied, but he tried his hardest to shut that voice up. He still very much wanted both Crowley and Aziraphale in his life, but he was feeling rather nasty today.

‘Speaking of, did you ever tell brother Francis, sorry, Aziraphale, that you loved him?’

Crowley dropped the spatula and turned around with wide, full-serpent eyes.

‘What?’

‘Did you tell him you loved him? It’s a simple question. I’m eleven, if I have this figured out, I’m sure he has as well. He seems smart enough. And nice. I can see why you’d like him so much. Although I really think he could do something about those teeth.’

This was all said casually as Warlock made his way to the fridge and poured himself a glass of milk.

Crowley was at a loss. Of words. Of coherent thought. Of everything, basically.

Warlock snapped his fingers in front of him in an annoyed manner.

‘Earth to Crowley,’ the demon could faintly hear as he was slowly snapping out of his daze.

‘Mhm. I don’t…I mean…I…um…’

That seemed to be the extent of his vocabulary for the moment.

Warlock groaned and went back to sit at the kitchen island on one of those tall and uncomfortable bar stools that people bought for the aesthetic of it all more than for the practicality.

‘Can _I_ tell him?’

This seemed to do the trick as Crowley was suddenly by his side, a hand gripping his shoulder tightly.

‘No!’ he said desperately. ‘Don’t ever tell him that! Warlock, you have to promise me -’

‘Fine! You’re being very stupid, but fine.’

‘Hello,’ Adam intoned happily while stretching in the kitchen doorway. If he heard anything of the previous conversation, he had the good grace to keep mum about it. And seeing as eleven-years-old didn’t particularly have any good grace, judging by Warlock’s recent behaviour, he probably was oblivious to the whole exchange.

‘That smells nice, what are you making?’

‘Omelettes.’

‘Huh, never had an omelette for lunch,’ Adam retorted.

‘What is it with you kids and all these sudden standards? We could go out and grab lunch if you want,’ Crowley grumbled as he apparently had to provide Michelin-star-rated-restaurant service to a couple of kids that, for all he knew, considered chicken Mcnuggets the height of culinary masterpieces.

‘Nah, omelette is fine,’ Adam said as he sat down on a bar-stool.

‘After all, there’s a first time for everything,’ Warlock added as he threw Crowley a very pointed glare.


	29. Hell can be quite merciful when it's afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which demons (some of them, at least) have a lot more sense in them then angels do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I strongly believe that Beelzebub's buzz is something they came up with as a means to annoy/frighten other people and it's all done more for show rather than anything else, and it just springs up through no fault of their own. So they only talk like that when they want to seem in a position of power. Or are properly and truly pissed off.

** Unspecified point of time because well, Hell.  
Hell. **

It was a cold day in Hell. All the days were cold. And damp. Whoever thought up that all of those pits brimming with Hellfire were what made Hell unbearable was dead wrong. Most of the demons approached those with the same pleasure humans reserved for five star rated saunas. Sure, they were - uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to describe them - for the humans, but for all the demons that had to deal with the dampness that permeated every fibre of their existence as if their whole life was spent during winter in England, it was anything but that.

Lord Beelzebub and Prince of Hell was having a particularly difficult day. Not that any of the other days were any better. _It came with the turf, really_. Being a Prince of Hell did that to you.

‘What is it?’ they snapped as Dagon knocked on their door and chanced leaning in the door-frame.

‘My Prince, Duke Hastur wants to speak with you. _Again_. I know I shouldn’t bother you, but there’s rank involved and the like.’

Beelzebub groaned.

‘Fine, let the bazzztard in.’

Hastur made his way in, quite unceremoniously - Beelzebub was happy to notice. _Ceremony was something lost on demons_.

‘Lord,’ he said, venom trickling off his voice.

‘Yes, Hazztur. You’ve been quite inzzzzizztent.’

‘I want your permission to go after Crowley. Now that spirits have quieted down a bit. I don’t expect it will be very hard. I did my research and he doesn’t seem to have many wards and protections up.’

‘Izz that all you wanted?’

Hastur perked up. _Yes, it was all he ever wished for_, to punish that lame excuse for a demon. The one that completely destroyed Ligur. Would he feel better afterwards? _Debatable_. He was a demon. They weren’t built to feel good. _But justice would be served_. And the way Beelzebub said it. _That’s all you wanted_. As if it was nothing.

‘Yes, Lord.’

‘Good, then. Permizzzion denied. Now off you go.’

‘_WHAT_?’

‘Hastur,’ they said in annoyance, even forgetting to emit their signature buzz. ‘I am not signing off on any attempt on his life either this eternity or the next’

‘But….but…he failed us. He killed Ligur!’

‘I would zzzay I’m zzzory for your lozzz, but that would be lying. Hmm, maybe I zzzhould zzay that. No matter. He’zzz off limitzzz.’

‘Why?’

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow. No one dared question them. They’d made sure of that. Would in the future as well.

‘Yes, Lord,’ Hastur mumbled after a full minute of being given the raised eyebrow treatment.

He stormed out the throne room. _That was good, proper, demonical storming of_. Of _that_, Beelzebub approved. Of having their specific orders questioned, they did not.

‘Dagon!’ they bellowed.

‘Yes, Lord?’

‘Oh, you can stop the pretence, it’s just us.’

Dagon smirked, flashing more teeth than humanly possible, all of them razor sharp.

‘So, do you think he’ll listen?’ Dagon pressed her shoulder to the door-frame and crossed her hands over her chest.

Of course she’d been eavesdropping. _It was proper demon behaviour, that_.

Beelzebub turned their head to the side and inspected Dagon with a bored look. However, a corner of their lips threatened ever so slightly to turn upwards.

‘What do you think, Dagon?’

‘I couldn’t possibly speculate,’ she said, while they both knew speculating was something that she could do very well. _Would do_. Usually accompanied by studiously crafted graphs and diagrams. _She was the Lord of the Files, after all._

‘_Try_.’

‘My money’s on no.’

‘_Good_. Wouldn’t be any fun otherwise.’

‘Do you have any particular plan in mind?’

‘Nah. Just to see how it all goes. Although I _do_ want it in writing that I did not authorise any of it.’

Dagon nodded.

‘I mean it. I don’t want any angel that can resist Hellfire to rain down Holy Water on us if anything happens to Crowley. I want it written down. An official document.’

‘Duly noted. And if anything happens to Hastur?’

‘I did just say that I’m not on board with him going after Crowley, didn’t I?’

Dagon was smiling widely. It was not a pretty sight.

‘It’s going to be in the records and all.’

‘Never liked him much, not that I have to like a lot of demons, apart from you.’

‘You don’t have to like me either, you just choose to do it.’

‘Don’t be nasty. Well, do, of course. It’s in the job description.’

‘How do you think he’ll do it, then?’

‘I haven’t the faintest. He survived Holy Water. I can bet anything that he can still survive Hellfire. How else do you even kill a demon?’

‘What if he plans to discorporate him in the hopes that we won’t ever grant him a new body and he could torture him in the bottomless pits for all of eternity.’

‘Well, if that’s his plan it’s a rather stupid one since A – I would never give my consent on that and B – he’ll be granted a new body the minute he sets foot back here and very pointedly be asked to leave.’

‘What is it that has you so concerned about this?’

‘Wank-wings told me about what happened back Upstairs. With the angel. I really don’t want him anywhere near here. Especially not on a revenge mission.’

There were a select few demons that remembered more than just vague glimpses from before. Lucifer was one of them. Beelzebub another. Their position as second in command wasn’t all that random. They had been a big deal back in Heaven as well. _The higher you are, the further you Fall_. They remembered the war back in Heaven in minute detail. They knew what avenging angels were like. No demon, no matter how nasty, could possibly match the wrath of an avenging angel. They shuddered.

‘Why do you think he would come on a revenge mission in the first place? Sure, they were fraternising, but so were you and Gabriel. Michael and Ligur. It’s good to have an ear on the inside. I talk to Pravuil every other week and exchange notes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was a demon sent directly from the bowels of Hell to wind Gabriel up.’

‘You weren’t there. At the airbase. It’s more than fraternising. You should have seen the way he looked at him. It’s, ugh, I really don’t want to say it. It’s like how we are.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘What would you do if something ever happened to me? If Gabriel killed me with Holy Water?’

‘Oh I would tear him apart limb by limb.’

‘Good. I’d do the same for you.’

This was as overt a declaration of undying love as any. Demons didn’t much do that. But threatening to rip someone apart for someone you loved even if you never said it out loud, was quite alright. Good - _well_ \- bad demonic behaviour, that.

‘And you really think he’ll do it? Risk getting captured in Hell? For Crowley? Why?’

‘Because I, unlike that stupid bastard Hastur, do my research. I had my doubts ever since the airbase but I went back to check if I was right. What’s the point in controlling an army of flies it you don’t use them for spying. And let me tell you, if Hastur does anything to harm Crowley, whatever punishment we come up with for him disobeying direct orders is going to be the least of his worries.’


	30. Vignettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really want to get this story along and, were it not for the power of vignettes, then we would have a very very long monster of a fic on our hands. Not that it isn't already long enough as it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to speed things along to get us all towards the ending. Speeding things up is apparently not one of my particular strong suits since I have more than 20 chapters before that ending comes. I am sorry about you all having to bear my obnoxiously long fic.

**Sunday. Six weeks after the end of the world. 11am.  
St. James’ Park. Exterior.**

‘I recently read bread is quite harmful for ducks,’ Aziraphale said as he tossed some grains towards the ducks in question. The ducks eyed them warily.

‘We’ve fed them bread for as long as I care to remember. None of them died. Well, they did, of course, they’re not immortal ducks. Is there such a thing as immortal ducks? None of them died from the bread, is what I’m saying,’ Crowley replied.

He, of course, continued feeding them bread. The ducks went for it, Aziraphale’s grains long forgotten.

‘Do you want to stop by the bookshop afterwards? I know you don’t enjoy eating much but I just purchased these to-die-for macaroons.’

‘Can’t, angel. Things to do. Plants to yell at.’

Aziraphale didn’t comment about the plants, or the yelling. He didn’t comment about Crowley’s reluctance to ever return to the bookshop either but it was eating him up, little by little.

**Friday. Two months after the end of the world. 6pm.  
Coven Garden. Exterior.**

They were sat down at a small café that Crowley had suggested, this time around, for the quality of the blends. Aziraphale didn’t much do coffee so he was sipping a hot chocolate instead.

‘What about Caesar’s time? I felt you being there at some point, but then you were gone for quite a while.’

‘Quite liked the fellow. Heard on good authority what was about to happen so I left before all metaphorical Hell broke loose.’

‘You weren’t responsible -’

‘Angel, in all the years we’ve known each other, when have I ever been responsible for any major stuff? As you’ve said, imagine if we were at all competent.’

‘You were responsible for the M25.’

‘I wouldn’t place being stuck on a highway on the same level as public massacre and all the power grabs that ensued, would you?’

Aziraphale shook his head.

‘I don’t even remember who was responsible for that now that I think back. It must have been one of ours, I just don't know which one. Anyway, I thought I might as well enjoy Egypt before shit hit the fan there as well.’

‘And Augustus?’

‘I was in Pompeii at the time. Glad to have seen the place before the, you know…’

‘Don’t even get me started on that. What about Trajan?’

‘Spent quite some time with that Apollodorus fellow. He built a damn good bridge, let me tell you that. Way ahead of his time, that man.’

‘And what about -’

‘Angel, are we going to dish out all the years until the Roman empire fell?’

‘It’s just I spent all my time in Rome and I was wondering why you were never there. It did seem like the place to be, at the time.’

‘Could never have an angel and a demon in such close quarters back then. What if people started asking questions? I knew you favoured Rome so I left it to you. Was never that far away, always Rome-adjacent. In case something happened.’

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile widely. _In case something happened indeed_. Crowley always had that knight-in-shining-armour thing about him.

‘I actually do have some scrolls dating back to -’

‘Come on angel,’ Crowley got up as he threw a wad of cash on the table. ‘I’ll drop you off.’

It was as if he realised what Aziraphale would imply almost instantly and shrug it off before it could be put into words.

**Saturday. Three months and a half after the end of the world. 1pm.  
Mayfair. Interior.**

‘I was thinking Albert Hall.’

Crowley’s mind was still hazy from having just woken up.

‘We could go for a concert. There’s one on Friday. And afterwards maybe -’

‘A concert sound lovely, angel,’ Crowley swiftly interrupted any talk about afterwards.

He also started looking at the week’s programme on his phone.

Friday. Mahler the first part and Tchaikovsky the second.

Aziraphale had always enjoyed the big and out there orchestras. He loved Mozart and Beethoven and Schubert and all the Bachs. He wanted panache. He wanted a show and all of the instruments there were.

Crowley adored Tchaikovsky and Debussy, Chopin and Saint-Saëns. How could he not? If someone saw fit to name a particular piece ‘Danse Macabre’ of course he would get giddy with excitement. _Big spooky fan, him_. Not to mention it was an amazing piece of classical music.

No one liked Mahler, though. He pointed it out.

‘You don’t like him,’ He said into the mouthpiece.

Aziraphale huffed.

‘No one likes Mahler, I thought that was the whole point. You and your demonic miracles. Heavenly pieces just after the break but having to withstand Mahler for a full hour before. Wasn’t that one of yours?’

It wasn’t. But he did think that whoever chose the pieces played in classical music concerts had to have some ties with Downstairs. Playing Mahler or Brahms before Chopin or Tchaikovsky was certainly something that annoyed all of the people paying a shitload of money for the tickets. Mahler absolutely sucked and having to hear him for a full hour before anything good happened had to char away at some of the goodness of everyone involved. That’s why Crowley actually liked him so much.

Aziraphale continued.

‘No one likes Mahler but you. So why don’t we go?’

‘Alright, angel.’

And if they never again spoke about afterwards, well that was in between them, now wasn’t it?

**Tuesday. Four months and ten days after the end of the world. Christmas Eve, to be more specific. 8pm.  
Jasmine Cottage. Interior.**

‘Is everyone ready for presents?’ Anathema inquired.

‘Yes!’ all of the kids yelled so loud that the foundations of the Jacobean cottage shook.

‘You know, my parents always say the presents must be opened on Christmas morning,’ Brian stated, while having no qualms about opening his present, wrappings flying in all directions.

‘Your parents are such bores,’ Warlock replied, this being the third time he had actually met Brian but also him being enough of a bastard to not care for decorum.

‘Aren’t yours as well?’ Wensley asked. ‘Aren’t all of them really?’

Adam wanted to state that his parents were alright but then remembered the little aspect of them actually being Warlock’s biological parents and refrained from his comment.

‘Angel, what did you get the two little -’

‘A drone!’ Adam yelled at the top of his lungs.

‘A book!’ Warlock also exclaimed, at the same time.

Crowley and Aziraphale eyed each other for a long while.

They had both gotten the two boys drones and books respectively. This was A. because Crowley wanted to spend an awful lot on something that he knew they would stop playing with in less than a month - that was proper demon behaviour being wasteful and the like; B. because Aziraphale always gifted people books; and C. because they certainly didn’t expect that reaction from either of the kids.

Warlock had grown to be quite a book-enthusiast despite Crowley’s attempts to veer him away from them. He had read both Agony and Ecstasy and more than half of Wilde’s plays before he was twelve. He would turn into a young version of Aziraphale, if given the time. For all the love he bore for the angel, Crowley didn’t want that. 

Also, discussions of whatever happened when they would get back to London stopped at: ‘I’m going to drop you off by the bookshop’.

**Tuesday. Eight months after the end of the world. 2pm.  
Mayfair. Interior.**

Crowley slept. He had been sleeping for a while now. In between the nightmares about his Fall, about Hell, about the innumerable tortures that he always expected would befall on him, he dreamt of his angel. And he could call him that. Inside the dreams, at least. And he would bear all of the nightmares Hell would fling at him for even the slightest chance to dream of Aziraphale. 

In this particular dream Aziraphale was cupping his face with his hands while a fond smile played on his face. He leaned in and kissed Crowley’s forehead. This dream had been prompted by Aziraphale lightly brushing his fingers over his and calling him darling.

He must know what this did to him, he really must. And it was unfair, really, having the angel so close and so open and not being able to do anything. 

He had called Crowley ‘darling’ four times now and had touched his hand twice as many times. His shoulder three times. Guided him inside a restaurant by placing a hand on his mid-back five times. Grabbed his thigh once while he was doing a hundred on Oxford street. That had him nearly drive directly into one of the many shop-windows. He didn’t even think it was intentional by this point. 

Aziraphale had always been affectionate with everyone he knew, just not him. Never him. The fear of how Heaven would react to that must have been the driving cause that stopped him from being his over-the-top loving self around a demon. But Crowley remembered how he always clasped Hypatia’s hands lovingly at the end of all her lectures as he brightly congratulated her on an amazing performance, how he hugged the children tightly, obscuring their face in the process while their parents were being executed in those bloody witch trials, how he gently placed his hand on Chaucer’s back guiding him to be the first to enter all those watering holes they frequented in that all-around mess of a century, how he grasped Will’s bloody shoulder and doubled over with laughter whenever the playwright would come up with a particularly funny anecdote. And, in recent years, how often he would hug Warlock whenever the kid would run over to him with all kinds of minor scratches and bruises that were all physical evidence of all the mischief he was up to. 

Aziraphale had always been the touchy-feely sort. He was an angel after all. But ever since the Armageddin’t he was being touchy-feely around him and Crowley didn’t think he could ever get used to that. Especially since his thoughts on the matter, each and every time Aziraphale touched his hand, were of the _‘I want to pin you against that wall and have my way with you’_ variety.

So, each and every time the angel displayed even the tiniest bit of affection towards him, affection that Crowley was certain he had towards all living things because, if it takes you more than 6000 years to figure things out, you are bound to be very, very slow on the intake, he always went back home and resorted to sleeping. At least in his sleep he could imagine any and all scenarios involving the angel.

And in the dreams he never had to deal with the burning bookshop. He did, obviously, but not in the ones he would have after having Aziraphale cup his hand. Those were happy dreams that had him sleeping for weeks and weeks.

**Sunday. Eleven months after the end of the world. 4pm  
The British Museum. Interior.**

He had brought up the issue yet again and Crowley had gotten his defences up, as he always did, and it made Aziraphale want to scream in frustration. _What was it with this blatant refusal of going back to his shop?_ They had spent countless nights there, and there had never been an issue with it before.

__

Crowley mumbled something about going to see the Japanese rooms and Aziraphale let him wander away on his own. He knew better than to push when Crowley got like this. He’d wander around some more in the Egyptian wing and maybe in twenty minutes or so he would look for where Crowley was. His voice had been very high pitched as he had announced that _‘I don’t want to come to yours and that’s that. End of discussion.’_

It had left Aziraphale rather hurt. He wandered around the massive stone statues that towered over him and couldn’t help but feel very small and very alone. The museum was bustling with people – it was Sunday after all – but he didn’t even register them. 

His only kindred spirit, now that they both gave up on their respective sides, seemed to draw away from him further and further by the day. Of course they saw each other several times a week and most of their weekends were spent with Warlock as his parents had no qualms about letting their son go his merry way. Sometimes Adam would join them. Sometimes they’d drive to Tadfield. But each and every time, he would be picked up in front of the bookshop and then be dropped of in front of the bookshop as well.

There seemed to always be this cold divide between them. He had tried, on several occasions, to place a hand on top of Crowley’s own whenever they would dine out. This was never met with resistance, just a certain stillness and an expression Aziraphale was yet to name. It wasn’t anger, or disgust, but it wasn’t a happy expression either. Far from it. And then he would get radio silence for two weeks or so.

The same silence had followed the other three times Aziraphale had sprung an accidental ‘darling’ while his mind was too deeply invested in the conversation to be able to abstain from saying it.

So he stopped. He tried his hardest to ponder over and minutely analyse all of their interactions beforehand. What words slipped from his mouth, what gestures were safe enough not to make Crowley bolt and stop answering his phone for weeks on end. It was all stiff and artificial and he hated every minute of it.

Maybe he only noticed this now that he was finally allowing himself to say yes. To try and breach the divide. Maybe it had been there all along but his blatant refusal to see anything from Crowley’s point of view had made him unaware. Maybe this was Crowley getting back at him for all those millennia of saying no. _No, it could never be that_, because, for all he claimed otherwise, Crowley didn’t have an evil bone in his body.

His mind supplied, at some point, that maybe all of Crowley’s past visits to the bookshop had been because it was a safe place where neither Heaven or Hell could spy on them. Now that that was no longer an issue, then what was the point? He still very much wanted things to go back to how they were before. _Who was he kidding_, he wanted so, so much more. He drew a deep breath to still himself as he felt his eyes starting to water. And then another. And then he went to find Crowley.

**Friday. A year after the end of the world. 3pm.  
Dowling Estate. Exterior.**

‘This is all very dull,’ Warlock pouted as he sat, hands crossed across his chest, back leaning on one of the pillars of the tent they had installed on the grounds, particularly for this event.

‘Last year we had food-fights and you were doing that horrible magician’s act, but at least it wasn’t just boring adults interacting and telling me they haven’t seen me since I was this little,’ he said as he mimicked an inch. ‘Oh and do I remember them at all? How can I when I was apparently the size of a bean the last time I met them?’

Aziraphale was sampling the cake and humming in response. He had the good grace not to comment about the ‘horrible magical act’.

‘Well, dear boy, your father has to entertain all of those foreign dignitaries and what better occasion to do that then this?’

‘My birthday? He can do that for his own birthday. I’m just saying whenever it’s just mum here it’s better. I wish Crowley was here as well.’

‘We’ve talked about this. Next year we’ll switch places. I’ll go to Adam’s party and he’ll come to yours.’

‘I don’t want you to switch places. I wanted you both here. I told them I can have my party in Tadfield. It’s not like I have many friends apart from the Them. It’s just this and that’s kid. And I have to be nice with them because their parents are friends with mine and that’s a bunch of bollocks.’

‘Warlock!’

‘It is! I could be playing in the woods now. But no, I have to smile and wave at boring adults.’

‘Well, soon enough you’ll be a boring adult as well.’

‘Neah, I’ll never be boring.’

Aziraphale chuckled.

‘You know what, I want to come over to your bookstore, no matter what Crowley says. I could come over without him, yes? Since he really doesn’t want to go.’

‘He doesn’t want to?’

‘Yeah, ever since the fire, Adam says. He gets very weird when either of us suggests it. I really want to see it, though.’

‘Ever since…’

‘The way I understand it there was a fire before well, whatever it was that didn’t happen in the end. And Crowley gets flashbacks about it and about how he thought the guys Downstairs killed you. And then he’s really weird for a couple of days. Didn’t he tell you that?’

‘No. No, he didn’t. It seems I’ve been rather silly about this whole thing.’

‘Yeah, you both are, apparently.’

Warlock rolled his eyes.

Aziraphale’s mind was too busy as gears started shifting to ever catch Warlock’s comment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Mahler bit is a bit of self-projecting. We have this classical music festival once every two years in my country and they always pair up the most weirdly opposed two pieces of classical music. It's always something wonderful in the second act and always something profoundly boring in the first. They don't even play the good Mahler bits but the heavy stuff. I don't even know if it's the organisers or the actual orchestras that come along with the pairing, but it's altogether annoying.  
The bit about Warlock reading 'Agony and Ecstasy' when he was eleven is also self-projecting. I did that when I was eleven as well and grew up up to be a sucker for the Italian Renaissance. Maybe it was because of the book. Maybe it was because I was inspired by all of the fantastic art, since the first time I was exposed to it was back when I was a very easy-to-impress-eleven-years-old, all I can say is that, despite the three-hours-long waiting line, visiting the Uffizi is still one of my fondest memories.


	31. How to take care of your demon 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not *that* kind of chapter, get your minds out of the gutter, people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the bookshop's floor becomes an important character. A recurring one even, for some later major scenes. Again, not *those* kind of scenes.

**Sunday. A year and a month after the end of the world.  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Exterior.**

Aziraphale had thought long and hard about how to convince Crowley to come back to the bookshop once more. Now that he knew what all this was about, and his heart didn’t break anymore thinking about Crowley never wanting to be more than casual acquaintances that met up for tea every now and again, he came up with a plan. And if it was like Warlock had said and Crowley relived that moment over and over, then surely what he was about to do was the right thing. It wouldn’t be particularly nice, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And Aziraphale was desperate to go back to how things were by this point.

It started out innocently enough.

‘Don’t you want to go for a stroll instead of driving? It’s such a nice evening for it.’ 

Crowley had given him a wary look but had agreed eventually and they made their way back to the bookshop side by side. Crowley very pointedly stopped when they were on the other side of the street and Aziraphale bade him goodnight all innocently and went back home. He had the patience to see this plan pan out, judging by the last 6000 years, at least.

The second time he suggested it, Crowley didn’t seem so upset by the idea. The fifth time he even smiled widely agreeing that the sunset-lit sky was quite beautiful for an evening walk. The tenth time Aziraphale thought _‘Well, this had been going on for long enough’_ and saw his chance and took it as he, to any casual observer, seemed too invested in the story he was recounting and stepped quite unwittingly – to the casual observer, that was - into ongoing traffic.

Crowley reacted almost instantly, grabbing his hand and pulling him back on the sidewalk. Having realised the significance of what he did, he quickly tried to pull his hand away but Aziraphale was having none of it as he held on quite deliberately and even gave Crowley’s hand a light squeeze.

Crowley was looking from his hand to Aziraphale's face and then back to his hand again disbelievingly and seemed to space out for a bit. _Good_, thought Aziraphale and pulled Crowley across the street and into the bookshop. He was still staring quite insistently at the hand so it took him a moment or two to become aware of their whereabouts. By this point Aziraphale had closed and locked the door.

Crowley’s face turned instantly white as all the blood seemed to drain from it and he started pacing back until his back was glued to the closed and very locked door. He let go of Aziraphale’s hand and tried shaking the knob desperately.

‘Angel, please. I just -’

‘I can recognise this for what it is, Crowley. You’re having a panic attack. But you have to face it sooner or later if you want to overcome it.’

Crowley looked from the doorknob that refused to budge to the angel and all he could see was fire everywhere. Surrounding him. Surrounding Aziraphale. Turning his clothes to dust and his skin to a charred, mangled mess.

He let out a sob and fell to his knees, his legs no longer collaborating. He threw his sunglasses away and closed his eyes, hands covering half his face as if to block the images out.

‘No no, dear, we’re having none of that,’ he heard Aziraphale as the angel kneeled on the floor as well and gently put his arms around him. He buried his face in Aziraphale’s coat as his own hands reached over and gripped the fabric tightly. Flames were still dancing in the eye of his mind.

‘It’s safe, dear. I’m safe. We’re safe. It’s all going to be alright. Adam restored the whole place and nothing is ever going to happen to it again, I promise.’

He just sat there, shaking, his thoughts travelling at a million years of light-speed per second as his internal battle waged on.

There was fire all around. _No, there wasn’t_. It was all in his head. _Was Aziraphale hugging him?_ He was. He most definitely was. At some point he even started carding his fingers through Crowley’s hair. _Oh God, that felt divine_. But the bookshop was burning. _It wasn’t really, get a grip already!_ They were safe. Everything was alright. _More than alright_. The angel was holding him in a loving embrace and rocking them both ever so slightly. He could feel the relief washing over him in waves. He clutched tighter at Aziraphale’s coat as if he was adrift in the open ocean and it was the only thing keeping him afloat. Aziraphale’s chin was perched on the top of his head and he had gone from stroking his hair to stroking his cheek while his other hand was drawing soothing circles over his back. Had they ever been so close? They did swap bodies, but that didn’t count. He let the last tendrils of fear that had gripped him for the last year whenever he caught sight of the bookshop wash away and be replaced by pure awe. He imagined some Heavenly influence was involved.

He had never in his life felt more at home than he did now. If he would have been a braver demon, he would have lifted his head from Aziraphale’s warm and soft chest – _how the angel could be so sweet and inviting_ he had difficulties explaining - and he would have kissed the silly bugger then and there. He wasn’t brave. Had never been brave. And the thought of loosing the angel over such a petty thing bothered him profoundly. The only thing he was, was a scheming and conniving bastard. So he pretended it took more than it actually did to gather his wits about him. They stayed like that for another half hour. If anyone would ask Crowley about it, he would have said he could have stayed like that for eternity. But he needed to maintain appearances.

He lifted his head and looked Aziraphale straight in the eye. _Fuck!_ He had thrown the shades away and he was now laid open, bare, for the angel to look at. Aziraphale only smiled and brought their two foreheads together, humming slightly. He could feel the angel’s breath, they were so close. Inches apart. He could kiss him. Wanted to, desperately._ No_. This was just a friend comforting another friend.

‘M’aight now, angel.’ 

Aziraphale snapped from the daze he was in of having Crowley so near and in reach and _oh my God he could kiss him_, but he didn’t want to mess with the demon’s already precarious grip on things so he let go, remorse eating at him for not doing what he felt he should do or surely he would discorporate. 

‘See, I told you it was all alright. And honest to God – and I mean it, I’m an angel, we don’t take these things lightly – I’ll never light another candle in here, ever.’ 

Crowley chucked as he took in the bookshop. _God, he missed this_. He missed the stacks upon stacks of books, the warm feelings, the dusty floorboards (Aziraphale really needed to vacuum the place or at least miracle it clean at some point), the familiarity of it all, the way it felt like home. 

‘Cuppa tea?’ 

‘I was actually hoping for something stronger.’ 

This also felt right. The way they both fell into this easy pattern. It felt safe. Like he didn’t have to risk the only relationship he deemed worthy on a whim. It was profoundly them, going at a snail’s pace, but them, altogether. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all wanted pinning? Here's an awful lot of pining. Crowley is being a proper pine tree by now. Aziraphale isn't far behind.


	32. The Earth Observation Files

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our two main protagonists' little switcheroo gets found out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Planned on having some Gabe trying to convince more of the other Angels to sign his petition in here as well, but it felt forced and it really just cut the whole thing in two

**Unspecified point of time because well, Heaven.  
Heaven.**

Pravuil ducked around the corner as soon as she spotted Gabriel stepping into the hallway. Now that she knew what exactly he was planning she wanted nothing whatsoever to do with that. She mentally cringed at the memory of having facilitated his meeting with Chamuel. She would have never called his office if she’d known what this was about. But when gossip about Chamuel - of all Angels - making a scene in the cantina had reached her ears she had started doing her job properly for once and she was shocked at her discoveries.

The first thing she was shocked about was that Michael had been sneaking around in the archives. _Her_ archives. Pravuil reckoned she only had herself to blame for that. The password had been - ever since the new system had been installed - password. She had never cared enough to change it. Mainly because all of the Angels did the right thing and went through the proper channels, so she had never put in the effort. She was doing that now. _The nerve on Michael_, Pravuil fumed as she typed possibly the longest password known to man, figuring both Gabriel and Michael and quite a lot of expletives. It felt like such a violation. Like someone would come over and start ruffling through your knickers’ drawer. She fought back a shiver as an expression of complete disgust clouded her face.

The second thing that shook her to her very core was what Gabriel and the lot had tried to do without an express order from Up high, not that there were many of those nowadays to begin with. And he had been a sneaky little shit about it. She found the memo hid in between countless other memos of no particular importance. They had tried killing an Angel, properly, definitively, and tried to bury the evidence in disposable paperwork. She’d spread the word about that, of that they could be sure. Bringing fucking Hellfire in Heaven and Holy Water in Hell. _What the actual fuck?_ Not to mention the complete audacity of trying to kill one of their own. They were supposed to be the good guys for God’s sake! _So what if they averted the Apocalypse?_ If God had expressly wanted the Apocalypse to happen She could have intervened. Although by now, none of them knew where God was or what exactly She was doing.

The third thing had needed a little more digging, but Pravuil was a very efficient Angel when she set her mind on something. And by now she was properly invested in uncovering this whole thing up.

Crowley had been right that no one from Upstairs was particularly looking, intentionally at least, as they changed back to their own bodies. Thing is, Pravuil was a very curious being and her interest had been piqued as she had seen the hundred or so photos of an Angel being particularly chummy with a demon. More than that even, judging by the lovey-dovey looks that were captured in more than a dozen of them. Being chummy with demons in general was something that more Angels than anyone cared to admit were doing, albeit the fact that it was done on the down low. She herself always called Dagon up when she wanted to bitch about Gabriel. _Properly_ bitch about him, that is. The kind of bitching that required your interlocutor to be an actual demon that provided Hell™ torture ideas when prompted. For everyday, regular bitching she found more than enough Angels willing to lend her their ears and even throw in a comment or two of their own. But loving a demon, now that was _quite_ something. 

So you had the Earth Observation Files – which were the official records where you had to have intent in observing a specific place at a specific time. Not that that intent was of an Angel in particular. It was all done by computers nowadays. Had been for quite sometime. But there was also a second observation system that ran in the background, laboriously thought of and coded by Pravuil herself. No one else knew about it but her. It had started as an insurance policy as she felt the need to have an eye on everything that was happening in Heaven at all times in case, _well, in case shit like this went down_. The fact that it had also been implemented on Earth just went to show that even if Pravuil was quite single-minded and obstinate in getting the job done, when that particular job would be done she would stop caring almost immediately of how everything was implemented. That’s why the password debacle happened. And that’s why Earth got to have a Big Brother level of security footage as well. But now she was rather glad she had forgotten to delete that line of code from the mix.

‘You have got to be fucking kidding me,’ she muttered to herself as she played a particular scene from a particular Square. And then replayed it. And then played it one more time. And then she burst out laughing and laughed for a full, solid minute before she had to stop as she had started wheezing. She wiped away the tears that had started forming at the corners of her eyes, summoned a bucket of popcorn, turned her phone to silent as Gabriel kept calling her quite insistently, placed her feet up on the desk in the Archive room and pressed play, yet again. _Oh this was so much better than watching cat videos_, she thought to herself while indulging in the best type of reality TV there was, as it was quite real and also the footage was shot from all angles and all in full HD.

She took a liking to this Aziraphale fellow. He seemed like a lovely chap. _Fucking Gabriel and all of his scheming_. But this particular Angel had managed to out-scheme the bastard so she had no other alternative _but_ to like him. She had no qualms about things like invading their privacy and all of that. It has been established by this point that not even the nicest of Angels could be bothered on matters of morality, and Pravuil wasn’t and had never been a particularly nice Angel.

She reached a certain date night on a rooftop terrace when she noticed someone resembling Raphael so she shifted her focus from the two who were flirting, or trying to do so very _very_ badly, to who she believed to be the Archangel. If so, what exactly was he doing, two tables away from the two? _Was he spying on them?_ It was indeed him and dining just across was a young-looking lady with amber skin that seemed to have the time of her life. And then She raised her eyes and looked straight into the camera that was most definitely not there and gave Pravuil a wink.

She turned off the video. Turned off the whole system. Then went back and double checked that it was indeed impossible to trace. Then went back again and changed the password for good measure. And then and only then she let her mind start screaming about how it was the first time in more than 6000 years when she made direct eye-contact with none other than God Herself.

‘Oh, _fuck_!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had you worried there for a moment, didn't I? Thing is, my OC is being too much of a bitch to actually share what she had learned in class - so to speak - with any of the other Angels. Mostly because she likes it when Gabriel doesn't get his way, but also for shits and giggles.


	33. The Beautie of Godde wilt sayeth nay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Angels chapter because I split up the last one in two. And also because I need a break from writing about those hopelessly in love morons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Crowley isn't Raphael in this fic, I mentioned some of the Angels responsible for creating the stars - according to Angelicpedia, that is. Let's see if you can make out which Angel in particular Crowley was before he Fell. It's just a side information, really, as I don't mean to figure that into the fic and it won't have any influence on the plot whatsoever. I was just enthralled when I read the list of names to actually spot some Angels who did anything star-related so there goes.

**Unspecified point of time because well, Heaven.**

**Heaven.**

**_The Beautie of Godde wilt sayeth nay._**

Gabriel, not having found Pravuil at her post for the last couple of days and her not answering her phone either, got up from his desk, petition in hand and wandered off to find Jophiel, wherever she was. He had to do everything himself, it seemed.

She wasn’t in her office. Hadn’t been for a while judging by how it looked. It positively screamed 1960’s. Her assistant wasn’t that much help either. About as useless as Pravuil, then.

He could look for Jophiel in the records but that would mean going through the previously mentioned Angel and she wasn’t answering her _fucking_ phone.

So he had to do it the old fashioned way and look around for a bit. He’d start with Rome. That had been the place he last saw her while on Earth back in the sixteen hundreds. And the clothes there were to die for, so it wasn’t a completely wasted effort wondering around Italy for a bit in a failed attempt to find her. He returned two weeks later with nothing to account for but some pristinely tailored suits.

Pravuil was still not at her desk.

He went and found Michael instead.

‘Last time you went through the Earth Observation Files, how did you do that? Did you ask Pravuil? Because she would have had to send a memo to me about that.’

‘No, I didn’t. There’s barely any protection on the whole system. I just went and checked myself.’

‘Honestly, Michael, you and all your back channels.’

‘There wasn’t any time for proper protocol. Armageddon was days away!’

‘Fine, yeah, water under the bridge. Do you think you can find Jophiel for me?’

‘That should be easy enough,’ Michael replied and tried to log on to the Archives, proper protocol long forgotten in between the two of them. 

‘That’s odd.’

‘What is?’

‘Apparently someone’s changed the password.’

‘Maybe it has something to do with you snooping around without proper clearance?’

‘Oh, shut up Gabriel. You were asking me to do just that a minute ago!’

‘Urgh, fine. Where the fuck can I find Jophiel, hmm? Any ideas?’

‘Italy?’

‘Been there. Done that. She ain’t there.’

Michael thought long and hard on where exactly the latest when it came to divinely inspired art would be. She didn’t much care for art, herself, so she suggested the Americas. Everything was new and bustling with excitement over there.

Gabriel took her word for it and spent the better part of two months looking for her. She wasn’t there. 

When he got back he was fuming. At least Pravuil had returned to work.

‘I really don’t have the time or the patience for your usual sarcastic quips. So just tell me, where’s Jophiel?’

‘Um, last time I checked she was in Russia,’ Pravuil smiled helpfully, the picture of a perfect employee. She failed to mention that last time she checked had been over a hundred and fifty years ago.

Gabriel nodded and was off again.

Another week later he came back.

‘When was the last time you checked? You know what, it doesn’t matter. Let’s both look for her _now_.’

Pravuil cursed but went with Gabriel to the Archives and ran the search protocol.

‘Paris. Okay, that’s a bit on the nose,’ Gabriel commented. Pravuil said nothing. She really _really_ didn’t want Gabriel’s plan to succeed. The way she saw it - God Herself was on Aziraphale’s side. Not that she would say as much to Gabriel. How would you even spring it on your department manager that the owner of the company had been in direct correspondence with you, a mere secretary?

He went to Paris. He expected her to be at the Louvre or the the Orsay. She wasn’t. She was at a small art gallery, if you could even call it that, on Rue de St Maur.

Gabriel bought his ticket and even sat in line. He really needed her signature now that Chamuel was out of the mix. 

When he entered the exhibition everything was dark. A few moments later all the walls started lighting up. This art installation in particular could only be explained to someone that had experienced LSD on more than one occasion. Art started to be projected on each and every wall. Gabriel searched and searched and then he spotted Jophiel as she was sat down on the floor, huddled over, knees to her chest and arms wrapped around them. She was looking at the projection in awe. He sighed at having to dirty his pristine clothes by sitting on the floor and made his way towards her.

Jophiel was a sight for sore eyes. The Beauty of God indeed. She had long, midnight-black tresses that reached her hips almost, extraordinarily turquoise coloured eyes and skin as white and unblemished as porcelain. Most cosmetics companies would be envious of her. She was clad in jeans and sported a leather jacket. The only addition she had made to her outfit to indicate she was in Paris for the long run was a yellow beret placed slightly askew.  


Gabriel sat down next to her.

‘Hello, brother,’ she said casually as her eyes didn’t move from the image projected on the wall. It was something Japan-related Gabriel noted casually.

‘Hello Jophiel. It’s been really hard tracking you down.’

She turned her gaze to him immediately and her whole demeanour screamed _‘Really now, was it so hard to figure out I was where the latest noteworthy work of art would be displayed?’_ She knew better than to say that out loud. Heaven could be quite dense in that respect.

She eyed him for a long while. It was when the next projection started, showing stars being made and exploding in the cosmos when he had the good grace of replying. She didn’t pay him much mind, thinking about a time long forgotten - before of time itself really - when Kokabiel and Rahatiel and Umabel were creating all of those beautiful masterpieces.

‘Sorry, what?’ she said as more and more stars started dying, in the projection at least.

‘I need your signature on something. It’s rather important. It’s about the Apocalypse.’

‘Oh, _shit_! I forgot all about that. When is it taking place?’

‘It isn’t. Taking place that is.’

Jophiel sighed in relief. She quite liked Earth. Even if in recent times people had gone off and invented contemporary ‘art’. She really _really_ hated that, but every so often, humanity would surprise her with exhibitions such as these.  


‘One of our own made certain that it wouldn’t take place. I mean to Fall him. I need your signature for that.’

Jophiel looked from Gabriel to the wall that was now painted in Van Gogh imagery and fought back a shudder. She hadn’t been in Heaven for more than seventy years but she had no notion of Angels there caring enough about the Earth to actually stop the End of Days.

‘Which Angel?’ she asked.

‘Aziraphale. The Earth-bound Principality.’

_Oh, that made sense_. An Angel who spent most of his life on Earth wouldn’t want to get said Earth destroyed. She didn’t either. Perchance the humans would come up with something greater than painting a canvas in only one colour and selling it at a hundred thousand pounds. She would make sure they did more than that. She had provided heavenly guidance during the Renaissance, so she would do the same now.

‘No.’

‘What do you mean, _no_?’

‘I mean no. The Earth is an amazing place and one of Her best creations. I don’t want to see it destroyed and I applaud whoever gets in the way of that. You want this particular Angel to Fall? Well, you don’t have my clearance on that. And if that’s all, brother, I really want to enjoy this particular exhibition. There’s so little progress to be made in terms of contemporary art than can actually be considered proper art. Last time I was at the Pompidou they displayed a Europallet in the main hall and had the gull to call it an art installation. What’s up with _that_?’

Gabriel threw her the most menacing stare he could summon but she was too enthralled by the projections to pay him much mind. After all, they did figure one of the impressionists and they were by far her favourite bunch of artists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel Protagonists or mentioned, at least:  
Gabriel – messanger Archangel. ‘The Strength of God’  
Michael - warrior Archangel. 'She who is as God'  
Chamuel – Archangel of Peace. ‘He who sees God’  
Jophiel - Archangel of Beauty. 'The beauty of God'  
Pravuil – Angel in charge of the records of Heaven  
Kokabiel - prince Angel of the stars.  
Rahatiel – Angel prince of the constellations; their name means “to run.”  
Umabel – Angel of astronomy.
> 
> Extra info about this chapter:
> 
> The exhibition Jophiel is at is the Atelier des Lumieres and it's the best shit out there. Last year they had a Klimt-based exhibition and now they're doing Van Gogh. I've been to both - the plane debacle I mentioned in earlier chapters was related to this trip in particular. It's a video-art installation and image-mapping thingy.  
Also, the Europalett being displayed in an art gallery is a a real thing that has actually happened when I last visited the Centre Pompidou. I love the Centre Pompidou, I go there whenever I visit Paris (mostly for the architecture, not the art) but, I mean, why?


	34. A nudge in the right direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warlock is trying his hardest. Aziraphale is also trying. Crowley is just binge drinking by this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this chapter. I like the idea that Warlock is on his best behaviour when he's near Aziraphale and on his worst when he's spending time with Crowley.

**Friday. A year and three months after the end of the world.  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

‘What were we talking about? Oh, right, ducks!’

This was said as Crowley gestured with his wineglass widely, being on the verge of spilling half of its contents on the rug that was very proud to feature in his very own film. It was also the same rug that Aziraphale had nearly drilled a hole into with all his pacing and had been miracled clean more than a thousand times due to Crowley’s propensity to gesture theatrically while holding liquids.

It had taken almost two months for them to fall back to their usual patterns and seeing as it was well past midnight, they were properly sloshed by now.

‘What is it with you and ducks?’ Aziraphale asked petulantly as he was pondering whether or not to move over to the couch as well.

‘They’re little devils in disguise, the lot of them. That’s why I like them.’

‘You really don’t need to pretend to like evil things anymore, now that we’ve cut strings with both of our respective sides.’

‘You don’t need to miracle little girls’ ice cream cones back in their hands after they fell on the ground or tip someone ten ponds for a two pounds hot cocoa, but you do it anyway. I saw you last week, don’t think it didn’t go unnoticed.’

‘Well, I like doing it. And now that no one keeps track anymore, or they might, what do I know, I can preform as many frivolous miracles as I please.’

‘Careful, angel, with this little rebellious streak in you we’ll make a demon of you yet.’

Crowley regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth. Aziraphale Falling was something that had kept him up at night on countless occasions.

Aziraphale hummed as he sipped his wine thoughtfully. It had all been intended as a not particularly funny joke, but Crowley was unaware how close to home he was about his Fall and Aziraphale didn’t want to breech that subject.

‘Where are we going for dinner next? There’s always that new Indian place, I know how you like spicy stuff. But then again there’s that wonderful french bistro just a few blocks away…’

‘Whichever you want, angel. But we have to reschedule for Sunday. Tomorrow I promised Warlock I’d spend the day with him.’

‘You have? Well, that’s a coincidence. I also promised him the same thing. How lovely!’

It was, of course, no coincidence as twelve-year-old Warlock had the determination of a tank-engine to get the two of them together. Crowley knew this. They had spent quite a large amount of time debating it, as Warlock would simply not drop the subject.

_The little shit_, Crowley thought. At the same time he couldn’t deny the fact that the boy had given him the perfect excuse to spend more time with Aziraphale without him seeming needy or clingy or all of the other things he had no doubt that Aziraphale considered him to be.

The cuckoo clock on the wall announced that it was one in the morning so Crowley placed his by now empty glass on the coffee table. _Cuckoo clock, really?_ Who else other than Aziraphale and people’s grandmas even had those anymore?

‘Right, then. Better be off. Have to pick the kid up in the morning.’

‘Right. You could…no matter. Yes. Rather. See you tomorrow then.’

‘See ya, angel.’

***

‘You’re late,’ Warlock said, not bothering to lift his gaze from his phone.

‘Splitting headache.’

‘Forgot to sober up again?’ 

‘Myeah. Fuck’s sake it’s so bright outside I think my sunglasses need sunglasses.’

‘Nah, it’s the usual. You’re just hungover. And let me guess, you drove back to yours drunk again.’

Warlock possessed all the sass required for a fifty-year-old receptionist. He also knew that more often than not, especially in the last two months, Crowley would get drunk while lounging on Aziraphale’s couch. Apparently it was a habit of theirs.

‘The Bentley does most of the driving by herself anyway.’

‘Yeah, you said. Seeing as you didn’t bother to get a driving license.’

‘What is this, the erroneous choices police?’

‘If you’d be human, you’d have serious liver problems by now.’

‘Then it’s a good thing that I’m not. Oh, hello Mrs. Dowling,’ Crowley said while preforming a minor demonic miracle to make sure that the part about him not being human was quite definitively forgotten.

‘Hello, Crowley! And where are you off to today?’

‘Just going to the bookshop, ma,’ Warlock said as he got into the car.

‘That’s nice,’ she said with a wide smile. ‘Say hi to brother Francis for me. Oh and if you want to spend the night, just give me a call.’

Crowley looked from Warlock to Mrs. Dowling and then back to Warlock again with an inquisitive glare.

Mrs. Dowling just kept smiling while Warlock still had his eyes glued to the screen of his phone.

The boy had confided in her one morning, after she had been quite shocked to find out that the two people who had helped raise her son were not actually together, that making sure they would get together was a passion project of his. She had whole-heartedly agreed to let him pursue his little project for several reasons. One, those two were definitely in love. Two, Warlock was a very easily bored young kid, so anything that captured his attention for long enough was a godsend. Three, it left her weekends quite open to do stuff with the girls.

Crowley grumbled his goodbyes and got into the car.

‘What are you playing at?’

‘Me? Nothing,’ Warlock replied a little too innocently.

‘I know that look. That’s the look you get when you’re on the verge of doing something particularly nasty.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he said, apparently very invested in whatever he was reading on his phone but Crowley could swear that a corner of his lips curled ever so slightly upwards.

They arrived at the bookshop quickly enough. Were bound to, considering Crowley was doing the driving.

‘Hello Zira,’ Warlock called out as soon as he stepped through the door.

‘Hello, dear boy,’ could be heard from the back of the bookshop, most probably the kitchen. ‘Come in. I’m making hot cocoa. May I interest you in one as well.’

‘Yeah, sure. You make the best bloody hot cocoa ever!’

‘Language, dear boy.’

‘Sorry.’

Crowley rolled his eyes. Whenever the young menace was anywhere near Aziraphale he would turn into the most adorable and well-behaved kid that had the good grace to exist on this blessed Earth. Whenever he was with Crowley he would always be a spiteful little shit. Although, he supposed he sort of deserved that. _Evil plants the seed of its own destruction indeed_.

Aziraphale came from the backroom carrying a tray with three hot cocoas. One was a dark blend and had hints of cayenne pepper and one had marshmallows on top. Aziraphale’s own was the blandest out of the lot.

Crowley eyed his mug dubiously trying to figure out what it would pair better with, rum or brandy. He went for whisky in the end.

‘It’s not even one o’clock!’ Warlock wailed.

‘Hair of the dog.’

‘You’re impossible,’ Warlock grumbled some more.

Aziraphale took a sip of his cocoa and inquired about what the boy wanted to do for the day.

‘I have this dance coming around at school before Christmas and I was wondering if you could teach me dancing.’

‘Oh, I don’t dance, dear boy.’

‘Did that one, wassisname?’ Crowley pointed out as he poured himself a rather obscene amount of whisky.

‘The gavotte? Well, that fell out of style for quite sometime now.’

‘So you are capable of it? Just don’t know any more modern dancing,’ Warlock asked, all innocent.

‘Yes, of course I’m capable.’

Crowley could almost taste it in the air. Warlock was about to be a little shit.

‘Well then maybe Crowley can teach us both.’

_Watch it_, Crowley’s expression screamed at the kid.

‘I don’t do ballroom dancing, me,’ is what he said instead, sneering at Warlock all the while.

‘Maybe we can try together, dear,’ is what a very flustered Aziraphale directed towards Warlock since he found he couldn’t look at Crowley at all right now or he would instantly go red in the face. Yes, of course, the hugging incident on the floor of the bookshop was not a thing that had been forgotten in between the two of them. Nor were the casual brushing of fingers that started occurring more and more, or the light squeezes he would give Crowley’s shoulder each time he would present him with a cup of tea. But dancing was something altogether too intimate to be able to keep it together without actually fearing he’ll spill it all out.

‘Yeah, that works as well,’ Warlock fought very hard not to obviously pout at his little plan failing.

‘What should I put on?’

‘Shostakovich’s waltz number 2.’

‘Who taught the kid about Shostakovich?’

‘No one, I just liked it in Anna Karennina and I Shazzamed it. Sorry, Zira, but the book was too boring. I watched the movie instead.’

‘Are you for fucking real, angel? Giving Ana Karenina to a twelve-year-old? What’s next? Crime and Punishment? The Karamazov brothers?’

‘Crime and Punishment was alright. Didn’t have so many people sitting around and talking about balls all the time,’ Warlock replied.

‘Unfuckingbelivable.’

‘What? I can’t help it if the boy likes to read?’ Aziraphale commented while in his heart of hearts he was overjoyed of having someone to share his passion.

‘So how do we do this,’ Warlock asked as Aziraphale went to find the right vinyl.

‘I don’t know, I was hoping you’d find the proper instructions on that device of yours.’

Warlock pulled out his smartphone and started searching internet tutorials. Three steps. That seemed easy enough.

‘Alright so, you give me your hand and place your other hand on my back like this,’ Warlock instructed as he positioned Aziraphales hands. ‘And now you take a step towards me.’

Aziraphale stepped on his toes, but he expected it was his fault, not stepping back quickly enough.

‘I’m so sorry, my dear.’

‘It’s nothing. Again.’

Crowley was watching all of this from the couch with an amused look on his face.

‘Now another step to the side. My right. No. Your right.’

They ended up stepping on each other’s toes more than a dozen times.

‘And now we turn.’

This particular turn had Warlock knock over a vase. The next turn had Aziraphale bump into a table.

Nothing was destroyed in the process however, thanks to a string of demonic miracles.

It took them the better part of a day but Warlock was pleased to have taught Aziraphale how to dance. If only he could get Crowley in the mix as well. That had been the plan all along. Yeah, he didn’t lie about the dance before Christmas but he had no intention of actually dancing. All of the people at his school were horrible, stuck-up knobs. All of them the sons and daughters of someone important. He was as well, he supposed, but at least he didn’t act like the whole world should revolve around him. He’d probably just ask Adam as his plus one. Or maybe Pepper. He didn’t want to get any particularly nasty looks.

‘Are you sure you don’t wanna join us,’ he turned again and he was facing Crowley with a cheeky grin on his face. Crowley made a rude hand gesture behind Aziraphale’s back.

‘Nah, I’m alright,’ was said as Aziraphale was facing him. A head-cutting gesture was made with his hand when Aziraphale’s back was turned yet again. Warlock was having a field day.

‘You don’t know what you’re missing. This is very fun.’ 

Crowley did indeed know what he was missing. He was missing dancing with the angel. Having hands wrapped around him. Touching Aziraphale’s back while their chests would brush at every turn. 

‘Yes, it is quite lovely, isn’t it?’

‘Don’t encourage the little shit, angel.’

Warlock announced that he was famished as they stopped twirling around a little out of breath.

‘What do you want to order, dear boy?’

‘Whatever you guys want. I don’t mind.’

‘I was in the mood for sushi.’

‘You’re always in the mood for sushi, angel.’

Despite his last comment, Crowley sighed in defeat and ordered all of Aziraphale’s favourites on his phone.

After dinner Warlock all but sprawled on the couch in a very Crowley-like fashion and started playing Snake on Aziraphale’s phone. This was done partly because despite him having the latest when it came to smartphones he was a bit fascinated with old phones. And partly because he knew it really annoyed Crowley.

At some point or other Aziraphale joined Crowley in the alcohol consumption department and Warlock dozed off.

‘Sushi, angel, really? And Anna fucking Karenina? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re doing quite a bit of Heavenly influencing to make sure he ends up just like you.’

‘That’s exactly what I’m doing. Have been for the last twelve years. Aren’t you doing the same?’

‘Yeah, and judging by how much of a spiteful fucker he is, I would say I was winning.’

‘Oh, don’t be nasty. He’s a darling little boy.’

The darling little boy turned over and started snoring. Loudly. He knew for a fact that Aziraphale wouldn’t want to wake him up and get him going. He was rather banking on it. Messages sent to his mother and all.

‘Best be off, then,’ he heard Crowley say as he lifted Warlock’s feet from his lap and prodded the boy in between the ribs.

‘Shh, what do you think you’re doing.’

‘Waking the bastard up. I need to get him home.’

‘Surely he can sleep here if he wanted. And there’s no need to wake him. You know I have read that children need at least ten hours of -’

‘Fine then. I’m leaving him in your capable hands. I’ll come back to get him tomorrow.’

‘You could always stay as well.’

Warlock hid his wide smile in between the pillows of the couch.

‘I…what?’

‘You can stay. There’s a bed upstairs but I don’t use that much. I mostly sit down here, reading. That way you don’t need to sober up before driving home.’

‘I don’t need to sober up anyway. I could always drive drunk.’

Aziraphale threw him a loaded glare.

‘Don’t get me started on that. I really don’t want to fight.’

‘I don’t either.’

‘Good. So you’re staying?’

‘Suppose I am.’

Crowley found it very hard to object. He had thought about Aziraphale’s bed for quite some time on a few choice occasions even if, at the time, it had had little to do with sleeping.

He followed the angel up the narrow staircase and felt himself cross a border he had never crossed before. This seemed insanely intimate, going back to Aziraphale’s flat proper.

The bedroom was obviously brimming with books, every flat surface, including the massive four poster bed laden with countless tomes.

‘Sorry about that,’ Aziraphale said as he started moving books around and miracleing a new set of baby blue sheets and a cosy-looking duvet.

‘I hope you find it to your liking. Good night, dear, and may you dream of whatever you like best.’

He smiled and lightly squeezed Crowley’s hand before he closed the door to the bedroom with a soft click and wondered back downstairs.

Crowley made his way to the bed at a loss of words. He couldn’t believe this was happening. And how casual Aziraphale had been about the whole thing. He took off his boots and got under the duvet marvelling at the softness of the pillows and the mattress. This was bound to be the result of some angelic miracles, as that type of bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in since hay mattresses were still a thing.

He dozed off and dreamed of soft blue eyes and angel wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally don't like people calling Aziraphale 'Zira'.  
But I thought Warlock would be enough of a shit to actually do it. Aziraphale lets him because he's grown quite fond of him and wants to indulge him.


	35. Angels of the Lord are being chummy with each other V.1.0.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, here's a little of what happens behind the scenes while the people back Upstairs plan for the worst. It's double crossing certain Archangels, but I did tell you we're going to have some good angels all around. At some point, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Raphael chapter. Couldn't be helped, really.

**Wednesday. A year and four months after the end of the world. 12am.  
The French Riviera. Exterior.**

Raphael was lounging on his million-dollar yacht somewhere around the French Riviera. He lost track of where exactly. Probably all of those bottles of Moet Chandon were somehow involved. He had spent an excellent night with Denise, _or was it Diane_? It’ll come to him eventually. He was sipping a mimosa and considering further pursuing last night’s activities when he spotted the young woman’s thin shape make her way on deck, dressed in nothing but an almost see-through robe. All of the robes he possessed were see-through. He didn’t see any reason for them to be otherwise. 

He gave her a wide smile and was on the verge of getting up from his lounge chair when all of Heaven split open. _Quite literally_. Lightning bolts struck the middle of the deck and suddenly Chamuel was there, primly adjusting his clothes.

‘What the fuck?’ Raphael could hear the woman nearly squeal.

Chamuel’s gaze darted to her and with a snap of his fingers she was on the lower-deck, sleeping it off and having no recollection of first-handly experiencing a member of the Heavenly Host appear on Earth. Even if she just did spend her night with one.

‘That was totally uncalled for,’ Raphael fell back into the lounge chair and poured himself another mimosa, this time being a bit more liberal about the amount of champagne in it.

‘So was you disappearing off the records like that. I looked for you for months!’

‘Didn’t want to be found. I thought that was abundantly clear.’

‘I don’t care if you wanted to be found or not. I needed to speak to you.’

‘Seeing as you went through all this trouble...’

‘I did. I’m very cross. I now own Pravuil three favours. _Three_, Raphael and you know what a spiteful little shit she is.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about that too much. She’ll probably just use them to prank Gabe or make his life a living Hell. How is the bastard, anyway?’

‘That’s exactly what I came down here to talk about.’

‘A bit grumpy that he didn’t get to have his war? God’s really happy that that never came to pass, just so you know.’

‘I should imagine,’ Chamuel made his way to the lounge chair opposite Raphael and sat down, elbows on his knees and his hands twitching nervously.

Raphael had wanted to be a cunt about the whole thing seeing as his plans for the day had been ruined and had very pointedly not offered Chamuel anything to drink at first. But from the way his brother was fussing about, he got the impression this was rather serious. He had the good grace to pour him a glass of bubbly that Chamuel very quickly drained.

‘I should think that God would never want to see Her creation destroyed in such a horridly despicable way. That’s what I told him but he didn’t listen.’

‘No, you don’t get it. God literally came down on Earth and told me so, with Her very own mouth.’

‘_What?_ You spoke to God? After all this time?’

‘Every couple hundred years, yes.’

‘_You_? She chose _you_ out of all the Angels in Heaven.’

‘She never hid the fact that She had Her favourites.’

Chamuel looked from Raphael towards the lower deck as if to signal that maybe God’s favourites shouldn’t be spending their time on one night stands with humans, so why were they one of Her favourites to begin with?

He looked rather cross for an Angel of Peace. But Raphael sort of got it. If you’re not on the receiving end of the news that the War to End all Wars didn’t happen and _weren’t you a jolly good chap and the like_, you would be bound to be cross. _Especially for an Angel of Peace_.

‘Look, I don’t know what you guys up there did to get all of this radio silence, I’m just telling it like it is. Don’t get your feathers in a twist, it’s probably nothing personal. You’re a fucking delight when you let your wings down. But do tell me more about darling Gabe. He’s probably fuming. Oh, this is _wonderful_!’

‘He is. It isn’t. They’re planning to make Aziraphale Fall for stopping the Apocalypse.’

‘They _WHAT_?’

‘Gathering signatures. So far Gabriel and Michael signed out of the seven of us. I don’t know about the rest.’

‘I certainly hope you didn’t consider signing.’

‘Consider it? I threw the list in Gabriel’s face. I made a complete spectacle of myself in the middle of the cantina.’

‘Good. And the others?’

‘Those were the only two signatures on it when I saw it. But I think they will try to convince them as well.’

‘Fucking wanker!’

‘_Wankers_, rather. Michael always seemed to get a rise out of it. The violence. The War. Last time she took immense pleasure in casting Lucifer out.’

‘Yeah, I recall. What do you want me to do? How can I help? It seems you had something in mind when you came here. And I have it on good authority She wants nothing to happen to Aziraphale. The highest, even.’

‘They’ll never believe you Upstairs. Gabriel has all of them wrapped around his little finger. I suppose I just came for advice. It feels like my every step is tracked back at Headoffice. Especially after not signing that blasted thing.’

‘Yeah, I know they won’t believe me. That's why I didn't bother to say anything. How would I even go about it? _'Hello there old chaps, ‘tis I Raphael! I’ve been lounging around on company salary for the last thousand years but now I come back with news from the Almighty Herself'_. Wouldn’t _that_ be a laugh?’

Chamuel snorted.

‘I’ve missed you and your twisted sense of humour. Ariel as well. Couldn’t say anything about Jophiel. She’s down here almost all the time, much like you are.’

‘I know, we’ve bumped into each other a couple of times and, as always, she’s been a fucking delight. Thing is, there’s nothing much for me to do if I’m not in on it. And I doubt Heaven will receive me back with loving arms. Especially if you say Gabe runs the whole shit-show.’

‘Maybe try talking to Her if that’s something that you’re able to do. I don’t know, Raph, there has to be something. I can’t even begin to imagine how gut wrenching another Fall would be. I couldn’t possibly bear it. Please?’

‘Yeah, of course, brother. Consider it done. I want nothing of the sort. I’ll bring it up to Her whenever we next meet. Thing is, it’s really out of my hands. If She wants to meet tomorrow or two hundred years from now, it’s always Her that decides that.’

‘Well then, I certainly hope She’d decide to talk to you soon. Otherwise, I really think I’ll have to take to bearing arms.’

He visibly shuddered at the mere thought. He had never even picked up a sword in all of his very long life.

‘It means that much to you, huh?’

‘Wouldn’t it to you? If one Angel healed the whole world of an impossible plague or something? Wouldn’t he be doing whatever it is you stand for? Wouldn’t you want him safe?’

When phrased like that, Raphael could see where it all came from. Chamuel was the Avatar of Peace. And this minor, nobody Angel had made sure that peace would keep, despite all of the efforts of Heaven and Hell combined. He had done what Chamuel hadn’t been able to do. It was a mix of guilt and gratefulness and eagerness to protect that Angel. Raphael would, of course, do everything in his power to keep someone like that safe.

He filled both of their glasses to the brim and took a deep gulp before he said anything.

‘The way this is all panning out, I think there’s going to be some restructuring happening all around.’

‘I know. Some of the younger Angels talk about unionising.’

‘Now that’s a laugh.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you good people want more of that deliciously stupid pining, but I have to pepper in some of the stuff that happens behind closed curtains. And if it happens to figure my vain and slutty OC, then that's more than alright with me.  
None of the Angels I portray are Good™ or without a fault. Even if they're being nice, they're all still sinning bastards, responsible for one of the major seven deadly ones or other.  
None of the demons are all that Bad™ either. As it will be revealed in later chapters.


	36. Vintage car shows, or the lack thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel and two boys derail the plans of an agent from Hell and his involuntary help.

**Saturday. Three years and two days after the end of the world. 6pm.  
Tatton Park. Exterior.**

The car show had been a bust, Hastur became aware of it as soon as he set foot inside the park. He knew it would be a bust, to be honest, since the very beginning. Ever since last year, when it had also been a bust. 

He was looking at Disposable Demon 243545475 with as much contempt as he had looked at Disposable Demon 193543656 a year prior.

‘Well, how do you explain this then?’

‘Well, um, your Disgrace, um, you see…’

The rest was lost as he was scorched in a pillar of Hellfire. Via Hastur. Who also used a minor demonic miracle to make sure they would go unnoticed. He had to make sure of that or Beelzebub would have his head on a plate. They had deliberately gone against orders. Direct orders. And as much as Hell liked people disobeying, they only liked people disobeying in general terms. They didn’t like people - especially demons - disobeying Hell.

Disposable Demon 243545476 took his predecessor's place.

‘_So?_’ Hastur all but snarled.

‘I checked the records more than a hundred times, your Disgrace. He always comes to these shows. Has done so ever since they started...well...showing. He _really_ likes old cars.’

‘So why wouldn’t he be here these two times. When I _actually_ wanted to find him?’

‘Must have been busy, I guess?’

Hastur seriously considered continuing the conversation with Disposable Demon 243545477 but couldn’t be bothered to wait for him to reincorporate.

‘You say he’s been coming for these since forever?’

‘Yessir.’

‘And always alone, without the angel?’

‘Yessir.’

Even Hastur had enough sense in him to pursue Crowley in a place where the angel wouldn’t be by his side. An angel who survived Hellfire was something any demon would stay away from if they knew what was good for them, at least. And judging by the extensive research he did on Crowley’s habits, this was one of the few things Crowley did on his own on a recurring basis. Come here and look at old cars. _Why the fuck he would do that every year_, Hastur had no idea. But at least it was documented and in the archives. So he could follow that lead.

He hadn’t bothered asking Dagon about it. He knew she would run straight to Beelzebub. There seemed to be something going on between the two of them. Not that he wanted to delve any deeper into that. The private affairs of a Prince of Hell were to remain private or you would find yourself in a pit of boiling sulphur for all of eternity. Although, at times, he thought he would much prefer that. 

For the first months after that bloody traitor had killed Ligur, he wasn’t even able to wrap his mind around it. He couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend the immensity of what losing his best friend and closest companion would entail. Then the grief came. And the anger. And it was more than Hell could ever possibly wish to come up with in terms of torture. The only way to snap out of this particular predicament would be to end Crowley once and for all. _‘An eye for an ear’_ or however that stupid expression went.

So instead of going to Dagon, he had gotten Disposable Demon 193543647 (at that time) into the mix. And, thing is, when you know your life is quite inconsequential for the higher ups in Hell, all you have to do is make a choice. And if that choice was between being discorporated by Hastur or by Dagon (since discorporation was the only certainty you would have), Disposable Demon 193543647 had decided he would take his chances with Dagon, were she to find out about his snooping around in the archives. Hastur was too much of a bastard not to make the whole process a living Hell. Dagon was, on the other hand, very efficient at her job. Nothing was done out of spite. More out of practicality. You did this or that wrong, you’d get punished. _Sets the right example that_. Everything was swift and short and efficient. So Disposable Demon 193543647 took the wise choice to anger Dagon instead of Hastur this time.

‘It’s all here, in the files. He’s never missed one.’

Hastur screamed in frustration. A lot of the people around threw him a curious stare but they could see nothing in the area where the scream came from.

‘Okay, what else is he doing alone other than this?’

‘He’s visiting Adam Young quite regularly.’

Hastur wanted revenge but he wasn’t so stupid as to spring upon Crowley mere feet away from the actual Antichrist. One, because he knew that blasted kid still retained his powers, and judging by those stolen files he had taken quite a liking to the traitor. And two, because that was Satan’s son, for all he kept denying it it. And Satan..._well, Satan was not the kind of person you wanted to upset this side of eternity_.

‘You still haven’t answered my question. How is it that two years in a row - two years I come up to Earth specifically for this - the bastard isn’t around?’

‘Well, I, um…’ 

And soon enough, Disposable Demon 243545476 became Disposable Demon 243545477.

***

This question could, of course, be easily answered by Aziraphale himself.

As soon as he saw mentioned of '_willie serpents_' and '_anciente chariots_' he knew exactly where people from Downstairs were planning on surprising Crowley. 

He would have none of that, obviously. But he didn’t want the demon to realise he was in possession of a new string of Prophecies, especially since those Prophecies talked about his Fall.

So he called Warlock.

‘Hello, dear boy.’

‘Hi, Zira. What’s up?’

‘I have a favour to ask of you. No questions asked.’

‘Naha. All of the questions asked. I don’t do no questions, me.’

Aziraphale internally swore at the influence Crowley had on the boy.

‘Fine. No answers given to Crowley at least.’

‘Oh, yeah. I can certainly do that.’

‘I need you to keep Crowley busy on Saturday. _All_ Saturday.’

‘We were planning on going to that old car show.’

‘Vintage cars, dear boy. And well, a certain acquaintance of his plans to go there too. I would really hate for them to meet up.’

Warlock was a smart kid. He put two and two together. Crowley was being pursued by people from Hell. They would come look for him at the car show. Warlock was also having none of that.

‘Consider it done,’ he said in the mouthpiece and bid Aziraphale farewell. Although ‘Ciao’ was what he actually said. 

He called Crowley as soon as he ended the phone call with Aziraphale and invited himself over for the night at his apartment. ‘You know, since you missed my birthday, again,’ he guilt-tripped Crowley into accepting.

Warlock had received, at some point in time, a skateboard as a gift. He had no idea how to properly ride it, so he would make the best out of that.

The morning of the car show he told Crowley he would exercise some tricks before they got going just in front of the apartment building. He didn’t know any tricks. He didn’t even know how to slide on that blasted thing in a straight line. If the plan that he had come up with had any ways of succeeding, him being oblivious about riding a skateboard greatly featured in that.

Crowley, of course, said okay. He would always say okay whenever Warlock asked for something.

Then Warlock went and tried to do a trick he had seen online. He ended up with a contusion. _Well, no_. He _wanted_ to end up with a contusion. He ended up with a contusion and a broken leg.

Crowley spent the whole day at the hospital talking to various doctors and then to Aziraphale and then to Mrs. Dowling who was in the U.S. at the moment and he swore at the universe for having missed the car show.

At some point he fell asleep in one of those uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room.

Aziraphale came over, quite upset about the whole thing. He chastised Warlock for having gone through such troubles and quickly miracled the boy’s leg healthy and whole.

‘You really should have thought better about all of it.’

‘About what exactly, Zira? Him being dragged back to Hell? It’s just a broken bone. It could have healed. I don’t take threats on Crowley’s life lightly.’

Aziraphale felt like kissing Warlock’s forehead starting now and ending in forever. He had placed his own well-being in the balance. He had deliberately hurt himself for Crowley’s sake. Crowley would hate that. 

‘We both know you would have done whatever you could have to keep him safe, just as much as I did, isn’t that right?’

‘Yes, dear boy. That’s right.’

‘Well then, why am I being admonished for it?’

Aziraphale saw fit to hug the little bastard.

That had been last year. This year he thought of asking Adam to keep Crowley distracted for the day. Maybe because he thought Warlock would resort to some stupid plan like getting run over by a car or God knew what else.

Adam was splayed on Crowley’s bed and had quite the cheeky grin for someone running a 41° fever that had spent the best part of the last two hours throwing up into a bucket.

Aziraphale was fussing over him like a mother hen while Crowley had gone to the pharmacy to look for whatever it was that you administered to vomiting thirteen-year-olds and muttering to himself the whole way and back that he had to have angered someone very powerful to manage to miss the show for two years in a row. Well, he supposed he had. _Satan himself_, come to that. But still, this was really _really_ unfair. _Like the whole Universe was conspiring against him_. When in actuality it was just Aziraphale and a couple of young boys.

‘What did you do, dear boy?’

‘I got food poisoning.’

‘On purpose?’

‘Of course on purpose. This way Crowley has to spend the day here taking care of me. No vintage car show for him.’

‘What is it with you kids and putting yourself in harm’s way like that, hmm? Getting injured or sick. You know, he worries. Might not say it out loud but he does.’

‘Well, I worry too. And War, as well. It’s Crowley we’re talking about. And you wouldn’t have asked if it was not important.’

‘Next year I’m just going to have to come up with something on my own. I don’t want any of you two putting yourself in danger like that.’

‘Oh, it’s fine. It’s not that much trouble.’ 

This was said as Adam doubled over the bucket and vomited some more.

‘I could try miracleing you healthy but I’m afraid of actually doing more harm than good. You being the son of Satan. Me being an angel.’

‘It’s fine, Aziraphale. It’ll pass.’

Aziraphale groaned and went to find some cold compresses.

They were turning to be horrid influences, the both of them, he mused the whole while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic Crowley can't miracle people healthy. I know there are many fics out there where he does a lot of healing - most of the cases being on Aziraphale - but I have a self-constructed headcanon to stick to, so I ask you, good people: why would demons possess the capacity to heal?  
I know he's the softest of soft bois, but there are some powers demons shouldn't possess, no matter how adoringly lovely they are.


	37. Dream a little dream of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley, having overcome his fears about the burning bookshop, finds new things to trouble his pretty little mind with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning is rather angsty, but there's fluff at the end to compensate.

**Wednesday. Three years and four months after the end of the world. 3am.  
Mayfair. Interior.**

Crowley was sleeping.

For more than two years now their lives had started to revolve around each other. The fact that Crowley had always revolved around Aziraphale is a moot point. 

Sometimes it seemed like too much. _Too close, too free, too easy_. But oftentimes it was not nearly enough.

So that had been the reason for taking a week-long nap. They had fallen in this pattern. This domesticity even. Spending most of his time back at the bookshop. Watching over Warlock on the weekends to his family’s utter relief. Taking trips to Tadfield every now and again. Going out for dinner. For concerts. Crowley even slept in Aziraphale’s bed more than once a week - Warlock being there just pure pretence by this point. _So why wasn’t this enough?_ Why did he want more? He felt guilty about wanting more. Felt guilty about always imposing. Always being greedy. Not knowing when to stop. Not _wanting_ to stop.

And he was dreaming. And in his dream, they were flying.

The reason for him having that dream was Warlock constantly bugging him for the entirety of the last week about how cool it would be to be able to fly like that and why didn’t he do it more often. More often meant even the one time, _please, pretty please Crowley, I can hang on to your leg or something._

He was holding Aziraphale’s hands in his as they flew, circling around each other as the angel beamed at him. They were very high up, among the clouds. And they were dressed in long robes, exactly like the ones they had worn back on that bloody wall when the beginning of his endless suffering began. He had long hair. He only noted this because Aziraphale gently fixed one of his locks behind his ear. And then he leaned in and kissed him. They spun in place for what felt like eternity, wings flapping lazily and lightly brushing each other’s. He felt a shiver run down his spine at the sensation. Eventually Aziraphale pulled back and cupped Crowley’s face in his hands.

‘Darling, I -’

The second part of his sentence was cut short as Heaven literally split open and half a dozen angels were on them.

‘No!’ he screamed as three of them pulled him back, forcefully keeping him in place.

He didn’t know the lot of them. He only knew Michael. She was clad in a full set of armour. _Oh FUCK!_ If Michael came down on them it could only mean one thing. _Oh please God, NO!_

He tried pleading out loud. 

‘No please, please, have mercy. Oh please no! Angel! _Angel_, please!’

Two of the angels were keeping Aziraphale in place as Michael took out her sword from her scabbard and lit it up with Heavenly Fire. Her motions were quick and calculated.

Aziraphale screamed.

‘This is what happens when you associate with demons. You Fall.’

‘No! No, please no!’ Crowley sobbed as Aziraphale continued to scream, sword cutting away at his wings.

It seemed it took no time at all to preform such a heinous act. It didn’t seem of much import to any of them either, judging by their empty and scornful expressions. A swift hand movement from Michael and Aziraphale’s limp form was let go.

Crowley didn’t know how he managed to overpower three angels. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe they just didn’t care about the whole thing enough now that the job was done, so they just let him break free.

The only thing on his mind was catching Aziraphale before he landed. He free fell for what seemed like an eternity before he gathered the angel in his arms and then and only then he could breathe a sigh of relief.

They were a couple of feet above the ground. He landed both of them and gently lay Aziraphale’s body down.

He only then took in how the angel looked.

His clothes were charred. His wings were burned right of. His robes started to taint. And then he opened his eyes…and _Oh, God, I beg you, _please_, don’t do this!_

His cerulean eyes were red. Not just the pupils. The whole sclera as well. And they were dripping blood. Not dripping. He was crying. Crying blood.

‘No, please no, why are You doing this? _NO_!’

He woke up in a daze, screaming his lungs out and the first thing he did was to call the only number he knew by heart.

‘Angel! Aziraphale! Are you alright?

‘Why wouldn’t I be, my dear?’

Crowley sighed in relief, although, after the screaming he had done earlier into the mouthpiece, it sounded more like a desperate sob.

‘Crowley, are you hurt?’

‘I’m fine. I…it’s fine. Just checking up on you.’

Aziraphale, of course would have none of that. Crowley sounded on the verge of tears. _What if he went and did something stupid?_ With a snap of his fingers he was outside the demon’s apartment. With another snap he was in his bedroom. Crowley looked shook to the very core. Aziraphale fought back all of the voices telling him this was too much and sat down on the bed, an arm wrapped around the demon.

‘My dear. My darling. Please calm down. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.’

Crowley snaked his hands across Aziraphale’s waist, face buried into his waistcoat. They had done this before. _It was okay_. He just needed to calm the demon down. He needed to remind himself that this was the norm whenever Crowley would behave like this. They had done it back during the plague, the Inquisition, the newly restored bookshop only two years ago. _He was just comforting a friend._

‘What was it this time, dear? Your Fall again?’ he asked tentatively, knowing it was a very delicate subject.

Crowley had dreamt about his Fall more times than he could count by now, but two of those times had been when he was sleeping in Aziraphale’s room. The first time he had just woken up screaming. The second he fell from the bed with a loud thump. Both of those times Aziraphale had rushed up the stairs and was by his side in an instant. Telling him everything was alright and offering him tea.

‘No, it was yours,’ Crowley said before he could wrap his mind around the words. _Fuck._

Aziraphale stiffened. 

_Oh shit, oh fuck_, thought Crowley.

Aziraphale bit his lip. He knew it was a sore subject. That’s why he never mentioned the Prophecies to Crowley to begin with. But having him this distraught about it absolutely warned Aziraphale against ever mentioning anything about it. Quite the opposite, actually. _What’s a little lie now and then?_ Quite something, if you’re an angel. But Aziraphale was not a very good angel. Far from it.

‘I won’t Fall, my dear. I’m safe. Stop worrying about it.’

‘Oh God, Aziraphale, it was horrible! Your eyes…’ Crowley fought back a sob.

‘It was just a dream, darling,’ Aziraphale whispered into Crowley’s hair.

‘If there’s anything I can do to prevent that…’

‘There’s nothing to prevent.’

‘I’ll fight the lot of them if they come for you.’

This was exactly what Aziraphale feared the most. He wanted to say as much.

‘I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,’ he said instead, cursing himself for how cold that sounded.

Crowley drew back his arms and shifted away from Aziraphale. He sniffed and he started scratching the back of his neck, eyes on anything but the angel.

‘You’re right. Sorry for implying -’

‘You don’t have to be sorry about anything. I phrased that wrong, I should be the one who is sorry. All I meant was that nothing’s going to happen,’ he continued lying. _Or was he?_ He had faith in the Ineffable Plan. And if the Ineffable plan had him Falling, then so be it, it would have been bound to happen anyway. But, after the botched Apocalypse, he had serious doubts about the finality of it all. Anything could be thwarted by a Higher Authority if that Authority so desired. Last time that Authority had been Adam. But he would never let anything happen to Crowley. And if the damn bugger was considering standing up to all of Heaven like that then he had to keep him as far away from learning the truth as he possibly could. ‘I’m putting the kettle on,’ Aziraphale announced, a firm believer that a cup of tea could fix right about anything.

Crowley curled into a ball and closed his eyes.

A short time later Aziraphale came back with two cups of tea. Crowley could feel the mattress dip slightly so he turned around to look questioningly at Aziraphale. The angel made a 'scoot over' gesture, so of course he did. The questioning look didn’t leave his face, though.

‘You didn’t think I’d leave you alone like this, surely,’ Aziraphale answered his look. ‘Now, drink you tea.’

Crowley drank his tea. There was little else he could do as he examined Aziraphale taking his coat off and then his shoes and sitting down on the bed with his back against the headboard and his feet primly crossed in front of him. He had, of course, imagined many scenarios involving Aziraphale and his bed but this was not one of them.

‘You’re staring, dear.’

‘I….um….’

‘I told you I’m not leaving. We could, of course, go for a walk or something, but it is the middle of the night and I know how much you enjoy sleeping. Although, for the life of me, I can’t understand why if you always dream of such ghastly things.’

‘What are you going to do then? Just stare at the ceiling all night? I know you don’t sleep.’

‘I’m going to read a book,’ Aziraphale said as he pointed to said book on the nightstand. He must have brought it over went he went to fetch the tea. It was Crowley’s book of sonnets, because the Universe seemed to hate Crowley so _so_ very much. ‘And I’m going to make sure you have no more nightmares. That is rather the point.’

‘You don’t need to stay.’ _Please, angel, please stay!_

‘I don’t _need_ to do anything. I _want_ to stay, Crowley. So if you’ll have me, this is my plan for the rest of the night.’

Crowley muttered something incoherent and curled back into a ball. _'If you’ll have me'. Yes, angel, I’ll have you in all the ways you let me. At least you’re here where I know you’re safe. Where I can keep you safe. Stay here, please, always._

Crowley fell back to sleep thanks in part to a minor angelic nudge in the right direction as Aziraphale had sensed he had trouble sleeping and assumed it was because of the nightmare.

At some point he rolled over and buried his face in Aziraphale’s thigh. It stayed there for the rest of the night. The book found its way back on the nightstand, as the angel spent the remaining hours till sunrise staring lovingly at Crowley instead. He even chanced stroking his hair.

Crowley was dreaming again. 

They were on a picnic blanket in the park and they were holding hands. Once every ten or so dreams he would get the chance of having what he could never have with real-life Aziraphale. And for even one of those one-in-ten dreams he would bear all the nightmares coming his way.


	38. He who Godde helpeth wilt sayeth aye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the worst, or - let's say - the least nice Angel of the Lord decides upon company policy.

**Unspecified point of time because well, Heaven.  
Heaven.**

** _He who Godde helpeth wilt sayeth aye. They wouldst alwayeft sayeth aye as they wouldst sayeth buggre alle. They are not very pleasant Angells when one thinkst of it._ **

‘I’m coming with you this time.’

‘What?’

‘Seing as you did such a poor job at convincing the other two.’

‘Oh, fuck off, Michael,’ Gabriel huffed. It had been his plan all along. So why was Michael suddenly so critical?

_‘Excuse_ me?’

‘You and your back channels and everything. Pravuil changed the bloody password because of you. We all had access to the files and now we don’t. And won’t in the future either, until it’s cleared with HR, that is. So stop being so condescending for once. This is all your fault.’

‘I just meant that maybe, _just maybe_, if they saw that two of us wanted this then they would give in.’

‘Chamuel literally told me to shove it. He even mentioned you shoving it. I don’t think us being a dynamic duo would have changed his mind.’

‘Yes, but this is Azrael we’re talking about. You know how he can be.’

‘Fine. Tag along if you want. It’s not like there’s anything stopping you.’

This was said as he turned on his heels and marched with big steps towards Azrael’s office.

Michael realised she had to run to catch up to him and running was way beneath her, so she followed at her own pace with a very put off expression.

‘Hello there, brother!’ she could hear Azrael intone merrily even before she stepped through the door. ‘What can I do for you on this fine day? Not that all the other days are less fine, amirite? Heaven, huh?’

She saw him clap his hands as if to illustrate a point and, as soon as he caught eye of her, he threw his arms open wide in a welcoming fashion. He was wearing a perfectly tailored grey suit. Darker than all of the other ensembles worn by the rest of the Heavenly Host, but not dark enough to suggest any other affiliations. It clashed with his dark skin. His black eyes shone with mischief and he smiled at both of them as if they had hung the stars. Although it was neither of their departments, that. Gabriel was looking up at him with a slight scowl. Michael knew this was because Gabriel hated the mere thought of being shorter than anyone else. At least she’d get this out of the whole debacle. Having Gabriel feel bad about something, the vain knob.

‘Why, sis, it’s been ages!’

She grunted with a tight-lip poor excuse for a smile. She hated when he called her that. That was no proper way of addressing She Who Was As God. He knew that. He did it each and every time anyway.

‘Azrael,’ she greeted back with a nod.

‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure? Does this have to do anything to do with Chamuel’s little outburst in the cantina? I’m not much for gossip, me, but you know, you hear things.’

Michael glared at him. Not much for gossip her arse. He was looking at her with the widest of smiles. One would have even pegged it as an innocent one if one hadn’t known him for thousands of years.

‘Let’s sit down and get this over with,’ Gabriel pointed towards the little round meeting table.

‘Very well,’ Azrael acquiesced and moved to sit behind his desk instead, gesturing to the two chairs in front of it for the other two Archangels to take. Then he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the desk.

_Powerplays. Again._ Gabriel wanted to point it out in a rather inelegant manner. But they were two signatures short. _Three_, if he counted that wanker, Raphael. He really needed these other two.

So he sat down and pushed the petition across the desk. 

‘What is this?’ Azrael asked, eyes full of curiosity. Gabriel wasn’t buying it one bit.

‘You know full well what it is.’

‘I haven’t the foggiest. Why don’t you put me up to speed?’

‘We want to have an angel Fall,’ Michael spoke in Gabriel’s stead as it was clear he would have a nasty retort.

‘Hmm, that’s interesting. Very, very interesting.’

‘We want all of us to sign it. The big seven,’ Gabriel intoned and Michael could only glower at him since this was not supposed to be common knowledge. Also since they all knew that was a big load of bollocks.

‘Uuugh. That’s a bit tricky seeing as Chamuel threw a fit for all to see. Also, I know for a fact that Jophiel said no. I also know that you’re too vain to ask Raphael for help. So that leaves me and Ari. What would it be to get me properly invested? I’m not that hard to work with if my interest is properly piqued.’

Gabriel scowled. Michael did the same, although it had more to do with Gabriel’s shit grasp of things than it had to do with whatever went through Gabriel’s mind. There was nothing they could come up with, Azrael realised. On the other hand, he was terribly bored.

‘Alright, alright, I agree. Told you I'm not really that hard to convince’

Azrael had a very nasty smirk on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the book mentions Death as being Azrael. Thing is, I've read far too many Discworld novels (i.e. all of them) to imagine Death as anyone else than his glorious Discworld self. Sorry people.


	39. The morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley is a thirsty little bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As is the norm. But, since we're getting closer to the end and, therefore, to the inevitable conclusion for all of that pining, maybe he's entitled to be just a little bit so.

**Thursday. Three years and four months after the end of the world. 10am.  
Mayfair. Interior.**

Crowley woke up feeling more well rested than he had felt in a long time. _What the Hell happened last night?_ He had dreamt of the angel Falling, so why in Satan’s name did he feel so carefree? _Oh, right._ Aziraphale had spent the night. He was probably back in his bookshop by now. _Maybe it was for the best_, he pondered as he stepped into the shower. He had allowed himself to feel helpless. _No_, he felt helpless all the time. He had allowed himself to _look_ helpless, and in front of Aziraphale, no less. He was the one that had to protect them both if things went to shit. And what did he do instead? He carried on like a proper damsel in distress. What would the angel ever think of him? He was supposed to be tough, and in control, and protect Aziraphale no matter what. He wasn’t even capable of doing that. He groaned and started banging his head on the black tiles of the shower nook.

Of course, showers were not something either angels or demons needed. On the other hand, they needed neither food, nor sleep, and yet here they were. They certainly didn’t need whatever Crowley was imagining would happen if ever Aziraphale returned to his flat. Yet he thought incessantly about it.

No, he didn’t need to shower, but it was time well spent thinking and musing over things. And the blistering hot water felt nice.

He spent more than half an hour letting the water wash over him as he imagined a dozen of scenarios where Hell or Heaven would try to hurt his angel. No amount of near-boiling water could wash those thoughts away.

He stepped out of the shower with the cold resolve of abstaining from talking to Aziraphale for the oncoming weeks, or, until the embarrassment went away, at least.

He put on a silk robe and wondered towards the kitchen. Crowley didn’t eat much, but he damn well enjoyed his coffee.

When he reached the hallway he started hearing a faint hum. He arrived in the greenery and threw all the plants a murderous glance, as if they were the source of the humming. They weren’t. Well, if they weren’t the ones responsible, that only left one other possible option.

He wasn’t yet sure that that option rang true, but he thanked all the powers that be that he was far too troubled and paranoid on this merry day to do what he usually did in the safe confines of the shower cabin whenever he thought about the angel. Especially since said angel was apparently making breakfast as Crowley was stunned to realise when he set foot in the kitchen.

Aziraphale didn’t even turn towards him as he continued to hum.

‘Hello, my dear,’ he said, nonetheless. It was as if he had eyes on the back of his neck. _Well, maybe he did_ – they had never talked about their true forms. It felt altogether too private. ‘I hope you slept well. I took the liberty of looking through your kitchen to come up with something that I could cook for you.’

Crowley was standing in the door frame, jaw plastered on the ground and at a loss for words.

Aziraphale was sporting only two pieces out of his three-piece-suit ensemble. The jacket had long been discarded, the waistcoat was unbuttoned and he had rolled the sleeves of his shirt so he wouldn’t get them dirty and everything about him screamed about all the inappropriate things Crowley would do to him if given the opportunity. He realised he couldn’t lift his eyes from Aziraphale’s bare arms. _Sure_, there was nothing improper about bare arms – his shirt was rolled just over his elbows – but in Crowley’s mind this was the most indecent he had ever seen the angel in the past a thousand and five hundred years. _Since Alexandria_. So he openly stared.

Aziraphale had always said he was soft. And plump, and round, and all of the other things that Crowley wanted to whisper in his ear that were altogether delightful. But he wasn’t. Not entirely. It’s easy to hide a soft body under layers upon layers of clothing. It’s also easy to hide muscle and sinew and everything else. 

He was looking at how those muscles worked their way to provide a fulfilling breakfast and he gulped.

This was really not what he had on his mind when he woke up. Imagining Aziraphale in various scenarios was always a given. Actually seeing the angel in one of those scenarios did bad things to his high-strung demonic mind. He tried to swallow but he realised his mouth was far too dry.

Aziraphale was left in the dark about his inner torments. So he happily hummed and made some sunny-side-up eggs that he presented to Crowley with an expectant smile on his lips. 

They were overcooked and even slightly burned. Crowley didn’t comment on it.

‘Thanks, angel.’

That was all he could bring himself to say.

The next thing the angel did was look him up and down and it was at this point that Crowley realised he was only clad in a paper-thin robe and his interest had been properly piqued. He miracled himself fully clothed and, if he didn’t know any better, he thought he saw a disappointed look on Aziraphale’s face.

‘What are you still doing here?’ he asked while the inside of his mind was screaming at him _‘Please, oh, please don't leave!’_

‘Adam called your mobile device in the early hours and I spoke to him. I didn't want to wake you up. So I stayed to make sure you honour your promise of spending the day with the boy.’

‘Oh,’ he said, intelligently.

‘I made some tea. I know you favour coffee but I never know how to get it right for you.’

‘It’s very straightforward.’

‘Maybe if you instruct me on the best procedure I might be able to do your tastes justice.’

‘Nhmgk.’

Crowley failed to mention that his tastes would, of course, be accommodated by however the angel tasted like. That was altogether improper. It didn’t matter. Crowley was still measuring him with his gaze.

Those bare arms alone were something he had spent many nights thinking about.

Maybe he shouldn’t. He was meeting with Adam today so maybe some more PG13 thoughts.

As if he read his thoughts, Aziraphale started cuffing his shirt.

‘I really hope it’s to your liking.’

‘All that you do is to my liking, angel,’ Crowley confessed before he realised how desperate that sounded.

He was by now properly and royally fucked. Although, maybe not in the way that he hoped to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's such a short chapter. I promise more soon and deeply apologise for the recent lack of content. I'm currently stuck on a site outside of town with a shit internet connection and working hours that reach 3 in the fucking morning.


	40. One of us can read auras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Them try very hard to get those two together. They don't succeed. But they do find out more about themselves. At least one of them does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Pepper chapter that no one particularly asked for but was still fun to write, nevertheless.

**Thursday. Three years and eight months after the end of the world. 1pm.**  
**Tadfield. Exterior. **

Warlock had realised at some point in time that this was something that he, a fourteen-year-old, and eight months - mind you, boy (he would point that out every time someone inquired about his age) would not be capable of doing on his own. So he had to throw the Them in the mix. Adam was already in on it. But Adam was being a sweetheart and too much of a nice kid to do anything drastic. Pepper on the other hand…

***

‘You love him,’ Pepper said casually.  
‘I _what_?’  
‘You love mister Fell.’  
She said this while fixing Crowley with a very I’m-not-having-any-of-your-nonsense look. 

***

Pepper had grown out to be quite a strong and independent young lady. Although she would strongly object to being called a young lady. She had Opinions – of the capital letter variety – and they were all her own by now, her mother’s influence diminishing as she started to approach adulthood. Some of those opinions were about the environment. Some of them were about everyday sexism – that was one of the reasons why she started dressing more and more like the rest of the Them. Large hoodies and boys’ jeans. She didn’t want people like Greasy Johnson and the Johnsonites leering at her now that she had developed a ‘figure’. Even if that figure was very lean, she had developed _uuugh_, hips. She also had some very strong opinions about Adam, but those she kept to herself. And she very much, also, had opinions about the two supernatural disasters that had been a constant in their lives for the last three years (and eight months). Had started having those opinions rather recently after a phone conversation with Warlock. But even if they were new, they were very strong opinions indeed.

When Warlock had last called her, she had expected the usual bitching about school and his classmates who all sounded like they should be brought down a peg. _Or maybe beaten to an inch of their lives_. They had this unspoken agreement about talking twice a week for hours on end about this and that. _Sure, Warlock was almost like a brother to Adam_. But most of the subjects he would touch upon with Pepper were not something that he might trouble Adam with. Mostly because Adam was such a damn optimist. _Naïve at times_. Too trusting that humanity would always choose to do the right thing. Pepper knew that wasn’t the case, as did Warlock. So this strange bond had started to form between them. 

One of them was a girl of colour, born out of wedlock, in a very conservative little village. The other was a long-haired, androgynous-looking youth whose father screamed at him for not being the manly man he had envisioned he would be when he found out he had a son. They had both drawn the short stick in life, so to speak, so they understood each other perfectly. Warlock had a crush on a girl this month and on a boy the next and Pepper was always there to provide guidance and advice. Pepper had a crush on one particular boy they both knew better than they knew themselves. Had had a crush for a year now, and Warlock was also there for her, although sarcastic commentary was more often delivered rather than plain advice.

So when he had last called her she had expected something of the _‘Oh, my God, Andrew is at it again’_ variety followed by a groan, or even of the _‘Lily is so amazing, I think I’ll write her a poem’_ variety. She had never expected this.

‘Hyah Pep,’ Warlock intoned, all cheer.

‘Hi War,’ she replied with a smile on her lips as she thought back to Adam presenting her with a bouquet of wild flowers. She really wanted to tell Warlock about that.

‘Ugh, I hate to spring this on you but I’m running out of patience.’

‘Oh?’

‘I really don’t know what to do. I tried everything. I’m talking about Crowley and Zira.’

‘What about them?’

‘They’re being very, very stupid.’

‘Aren’t all adults?’

‘They’re more than just adults. Six thousand years, Pep. That stupid.’

‘What did they do?’

‘They love each other. Both of them. I talked with them separately on countless occasions and they both feel the same way but they’re both stupid cowards and don’t want to risk “their friendship”.’

The air-quotes could be heard through the telephone line.

‘Oh!’

Now that Pepper thought about it, it made perfect sense. Those two had loved each other ever since time began. It was so obvious. She had never thought long and hard about adults in general since that usually had her sporting a migraine, them being so goddamn stupid all the time. _Global warming is just a figment of your imagination. The wage gap doesn’t exist. People who aren’t white and straight should be treated like the dirt on the sole of your shoe_. And all of that shebang. So she had never given a second thought to the angel’s and demon’s relationship. She was giving it a second thought now. _Wow, she had been blind._

‘Okay, how can I help?’

‘I don’t even know by now. I tried everything. Just…I don’t know… just plainly tell them.’

‘That seems very out of the blue.’

‘Then be out of the blue. I don’t know. I’ve been in the blue for so long it looks like purple now.’

‘Ugh, I hate you and your metaphors. Why do you read so many goddamn books?’

‘Part of my charm, really.’

‘You’re so full of it.’

‘And you love me for it, Pep. Oh and on that note, just fucking tell Adam already. I really hate being surrounded by people who are blind about their feelings.’

‘Fuck off, War. And do send Lily my regards, if we’re being nasty to each other.’

‘It’s Charles now, but I do appreciate the deflection technique. Ten out of ten.’

‘Fuck -’

‘Off. Yeah, I heard it the first time. Byah, Pep.’

She turned off her phone, groaned and threw her back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling. It was painted like the midnight sky. Adam had helped her map all of those constellations back during the summer when Wesley was visiting some relatives in Suffolk and Brian and his folks had gone on a vacation in Spain yet again. _What was it with them and Spain_, she had no idea. She was getting sidetracked. _What was she thinking about?_ Adam. _No, that’s getting sidetracked again_. She was always thinking about Adam. Crowley and mister Fell. _Yeah, that was it_. How the Hell didn’t she pick up on that? It was annoyingly obvious. But they hadn’t had so much contact with mister Fell over the years as Warlock had, the smug bastard seeing the two of them every week. She had enough contact with Crowley via Adam and she always thought there was something that made him profoundly unhappy, bordering on clinically depressed. But she always assumed that was how any demon was supposed to feel. _Huh, apparently, she was mistaken about that_. And well, when you’re eleven or twelve maybe you don’t consider feelings to be such a big deal. They’re almost yucky to think about. When you’re almost fifteen though, well, that’s something else entirely. She was going to be blunt about it. She was blunt about most things, aside from just coming clean to Adam. Maybe getting those two together would be the much-needed incentive to be blunt about that too. She opened the group chat with the rest of the Them and started typing.

***

_Funny that he was always plain old Crowley but Aziraphale was deemed ‘mister Fell’ by the rest of the Them_, Crowley mused, clearly deflecting. He knew he couldn’t bullshit his way out of this, now that Pepper was in on it.

‘Whasss that got to do with anything?’

‘You love him and he doesn’t love you back and that’s why you’re sad,’ Wesley added, helpfully.

Pepper threw him a loaded glare. Then angel did love him back, she had told them as much. So why were they being so stupid? Adam failed to comment but she could see him trying to abstain from any retort and that had her pondering. _How much did he know? How much did he let on that he knew?_ She would find out later, much later, that Warlock and Adam had made a bet about the precise year when the two disasters would inevitably speak about their feelings. She would bite the top of his head off when she would find out. But that was for later. For now, she just kept staring at Adam hoping he could swing this around. He didn’t do anything of the sort. 

‘Wesley, that’s rude,’ she felt the need to interject. ‘We don’t know that! Maybe he does love him back. What then?’ she gazed surreptitiously at Adam to see his reaction. Adam was fiddling with his fingers and after some moments of lip biting and nail pestering he lifted his eyes and looked her straight in the eye. And immediately blushed.

‘Why don’t you ask him then?’ Brian quipped in.

‘What do you mean, _why don’t I ask him?_’

‘So then you’d know. And stop being sad,’ Brian continued undeterred.

Wesley was looking from the demon to the rest of the Them, mentally taking notes. Adam and Pepper were staring at each other, current conversation long forgotten.

‘What if he doesn’t?’ Crowley whispered. _Why exactly was he having this conversation with fucking kids?_ First there was Warlock and his continuous attempts at forcing the two of them into very awkward and very close quarters situations. Then there was Adam and all his nudges. And now apparently all of the Them had ganged up on him.

‘Then you’ll be sad then,’ Brian replied with a frown. _Wasn’t that obvious?_

‘_What_? You kids will be the death of me, I swear. What if I tell him I love him and he doesn’t love me back and decides never to speak to me again?’

‘Why would he do that?’ Adam asked, seriously perplexed. Pepper breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Because that’s what people do when things get awkward. Especially since I’ve known him for all my life. He’ll just be nice about the whole thing and say that we’ll keep in touch and then maybe we’ll see each other ten centuries from now when we had enough time to brush the whole thing away.’

‘I really don’t think that’s how things are supposed to go,’ Adam said and Pepper smiled widely. ‘You’re friends. Best friends, even. If you tell him and he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings then you’ll talk about it and it will be fine. That’s how friendships work. He’ll never shut you out or tell you to go away. Friends don’t do that. They stay together through thick and thin. And they take care of each other. You think very poorly of him.’

Crowley opened his mouth to protest.

‘Okay, not of him. Maybe you think very poorly of yourself. That’s equally bad. Crowley, please, just tell him. Everyone would sleep better at night if you did.’

Pepper was by this point beaming at the lot of them. Well, actually, she was beaming at Adam, but it was a very powerful beam.

‘You’re just kids, you don’t know how any of this stuff goes. And if any one of you lot so much as mentions anything to Aziraphale I’ll be plaguing your dreams with unspeakable horrors from now until Kingdom finally fucking comes. I’ll be off, then.’

He stalked back to his car, deliberately not looking back.

‘Aaaaargh!’ Adam groaned.

‘Right. This has gone on for long enough,’ Pepper said, all business.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Call Anathema. What else?’

They all hummed in general agreement. Anathema would know what to do. She was an adult. She understood why adults made things so needlessly complicated.

‘Hello, Thema!’

‘Oh, hi Pep!’

A whine could be heard from the other end, followed by _‘Theeeema, the light’s acting up again!’_

‘_I swear to God, if you change that light bulb on your own, there’s going to be Hell to pay!_ Sorry, Pep, you were saying?’

‘We’re having a really hard time convincing those two that they love each other. Crowley in particular.’

‘Oh,’ they could hear a giggle from the other end. ‘Try talking to Aziraphale. _‘Demons don’t love and they can’t feel love’_ And he tells me this, knowing I can read auras. They are both extraordinarily stupid. But I really don’t want to but in. I tried to, at first, but then I thought long and hard about it. It’s something they should confess to each other. Pep, what if you loved somebody and someone else told them before you could? Wouldn’t that be a bummer? Not to raise into discussion that they loved each other for thousands of years. I know they’re dumb. I know they’re in love. They just have to figure things out their own way. They will eventually. I know for a fact. Agnes wrote something about it in the New Prophecies and I even if I didn't get it at first I somehow felt the need to keep that particular page to myself. Figured it out later and I was very glad I did.’

‘Come on, that’s not fair!’ Adam wailed. 

‘My wager is not with you, it’s with Warlock.’

Pepper threw him a questioning look. Adam just shrugged while sporting an all-knowing smirk.

Okay so, sweetheart or not, he was the Antichrist still. Some nastiness had to be part of the whole ensemble. Pepper thought long and hard about it. _Pot, kettle_, she surmised. She would wait for Wesley and Brian to head home and then she would have a talk with Adam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not going to be only fifty chapters long. That's a lie I've been telling myself in order to keep the monster-fic under wraps and set a limit for myself. Limit that I have, as of now, already passed. I'm currently at 53 and that's if I don't write another Raphael chapter that I really, really want to write.


	41. Angels of the Lord are being chummy with each other V.2.0.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Raphael chapter because I just couldn't help myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jophiel also makes an appearance because I'm a vain little shit and love all of my OCs

**Saturday. Three years and six months after the end of the world. 7pm.  
St Petersburg. Interior.**

Raphael put on his headphones and let the overture of La Traviata wash over him as he craned his neck to inspect the art. He would leave the auction house with some ten odd paintings, give or take. Maybe even more, depending on the audience. Seeing as money wasn’t an issue, he made it his life goal for the evening to buy as many art pieces as he could if only to see those dreadful oligarchs sneer at him as he outbid them. 'Nouveau-riche' was a very human concept, but he had had a lot of time to acquaint himself with human concepts. And it wasn’t even about how recently they acquired the money. It was about how they did it, all of them corrupt politicians, or sons, brothers or cousins of theirs. It was also that none of them would properly appreciate the art, just hang it in a hallway because it looked nice. Most of the paintings were nineteen century, some of them were deconstructivist – all of them stolen by the liberating hands of party officials sometime during the last century only to resurface and be sold to other party officials. Well, their sons. Raphael found a guilty pleasure in putting a stop to that.

Oh, and talk about pleasures, his eyes landed on one of the photographers, a tall and lean man with amber eyes and a ponytail. He caught his gaze and winked at him. They had talked briefly at the buffet earlier. _Mark, was it? Or maybe Eric?_ Anyway, he was American and quite out of his depth, being sent to a foreign country whose language he didn’t speak. The man looked back, obviously flustered and smiled. Raphael was grinning like the cat that got the canary when some angry muttering somewhere to his left caught his attention.

He’s never been any good with Russian, but he didn’t need to understand the language to get the meaning behind the disgusted looks he was getting. _Oh, shit_, wrong place to be for that particular kind of flirting.

One of the men from that group started advancing towards him and Raphael steadied himself, knowing this will end with him having to throw a punch. He took out his headphones.

As soon as he managed to put them in his pocket, he felt a hand sneak around his elbow and a set of lips brushing his cheek lightly, while ‘Hello, brother of mine,’ was whispered in his ear. He could hear the smirk behind it.

He turned around to see Jophiel in a stunning dark blue evening dress that shone as brightly as the starlit sky whenever she moved as the light was caught in its many sequins.

She smiled widely at him, took his arm and turned with a raised eyebrow at the man approaching Raphael.

‘What seems to be the problem, sir,’ was asked politely in perfect Russian. _There is no problem so just be gone your merry way_, was very pointedly implied. Or at least Raphael surmised it was perfect Russian, judging by the look on the man’s face. He had no idea, he had never bothered to learn it.

‘Thanks. I think I might have caused a scene if you hadn’t been here.’

‘It’s purely selfish, don’t go on thinking I make a habit of saving your sorry arse.’

‘Well, there was that time in Berlin -’

‘Look, I’m just trying to get away from those two,’ she said as her grasp tightened around Raphael’s arm. ‘They’ve been ogling me all evening.’

‘Well, you look lovely.’

‘Kiss-arse. But thank you. Why are you even here? Besides making advances on twenty-year-old men. In Russia. Like a moron.’

‘Hey, love’s love. Besides, I thought they had gotten over that already. Should have, at least.’

Jophiel abstained from pointing out that love and whatever Raphael had on his mind were two very different thing entirely. She particularly didn’t point out anything about the seven deadly sins.

‘I didn’t even know you swung that way. Last time I saw you with someone you were involved with that girl…what was her name…Giulia.’

‘Oh, Jophy, that was the seventeen hundreds. Has it been that long?’

‘Never call me that again or your plans for the evening will take a very wild turn from doing mister photographer over there to spending the night with a bag of frozen peas on your lap.’

‘Don’t be like that. You know you love me.’

‘Yeah, I really can’t explain why. What’s even the appeal?’ she pointed at the photographer. ‘I mean, ponytails, _really_?’

‘I always like ponytails. Something to hold on to while…_you know_...’

‘Don’t be gross.’

‘Is that a blush I see? Oooh, please tell me you know what I’m talking about.’

‘I’m an Angel of the Lord, I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Jophiel stated, her eyes fixed on some squiggly lines on a canvas.

‘_Gotcha_, Joph!’

‘Oh?’

‘Were you completely innocent you would have said you never dabbled in it, plain and simple.’

Jophiel bit her lip and continued staring straight ahead.

‘What _are_ you doing here?’ she asked after what felt like hours.

‘Same as you, I suppose. Try robbing some of these good people of priceless art they would pay a shiton of money for but never properly cherish.’

‘These _good_ people,’ Jophiel giggled.

‘Figure of speech.’

Jophiel guided them both towards the champagne bar and, flutes in hand, they went back to inspect the paintings some more.

‘I quite like that,’ Raphael pointed with his glass. ‘Think I’m gonna buy it.’

‘_Why_?’

It was the mass of squiggles she had stared at earlier.

‘It’s avantgarde.’

‘It’s _trash_.’

‘Oh, you and modern art. You’re hopeless.’

‘Keep calling it art. Maybe then it will realise that’s what it's supposed to be and change shape.’

She turned towards some early twenty century portraits of the royal family that should, by all rights, be displayed in a museum and made a mental note to buy the lot of them. And then anonymously donate them to a museum.

‘Listen, Raph, as long as I got you here, there’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.’

A loud gong stopped him from replying. He only nodded and pointed towards the room where the auction would take place.

They were seated in the last row so as to observe all the possible bidders.

‘What is it?’ Raphael whispered, his head turned just a bit in her direction.

‘I’m not sure this is the time and place.’

‘No time like the present.’

‘It’s about Gabriel.’

_Huh, maybe not the time and place_, then. That was a conversation he wanted to have somewhere where he could have the option of screaming his lungs out.

‘What about dear old Gabe,’ he muttered through gritted teeth.

‘He came to me in Paris. He said something about the Apocalypse. Frankly, I completely forgot about it until he mentioned it. Am a bit relieved it never happened.’

‘You and me both, sis. Otherwise we wouldn’t be spending this lovely evening thwarting some power-hungry knobs’ agenda.’

‘He told me about a particular Angel that helped stop it. The name rings a bell, but you know how I am with names and faces.’

‘If it ain’t painted down then what’s the use remembering it, eh?’

‘You’re being a cunt. Anyway. He said the wanted to _Fall_ him, Raph.’

Raphael closed his eyes and sighed.

‘Petition in hand and all?’

‘How did you know that?’

‘Chamuel told me.’

‘And aren’t you worried? I mean, after the first time…that was monstrous. I still have nightmares about it.’

‘He won’t succeed. You turned him down, I hope?’

‘_What_?’

This got them several raised eyebrows and the people around them politely cleared their throats.

‘Sorry about that,’ Jophiel said to the woman on her right.

‘Of course I turned him down, what do you take me for?’

‘He needs seven signatures, Joph. He has no ground to walk on without them. Chamuel didn’t sign. Nor did you. He ain’t ever going to come to me out of pure spite. That leaves Michael, who already signed it – Chamuel told me -’

‘Oh, that _bitch_!’

This also got them some very loaded glares.

‘Sorry, I’m so sorry’ Jophiel raised her hands in apology.

‘And Ariel and Azrael. It’s still just four.’

‘It’s a majority.’

‘Not big on being democratic, Heaven. I don’t know if a majority would hold up in the eyes of the deciding parties. And come on, Ariel would never sign that thing.’

‘Yeah, you’re right. She wouldn’t. Azrael would though.’

‘Oh, I’m counting on it.’

‘What?’

‘There’s ten pounds to be gained out of that, wager wise. And ten pounds is ten pounds.’

Jophiel refrained from mentioning the fact that he would be spending millions on the bids if he planned to buy a shitload of paintings.

‘Anyway, it’s proving a point more than actual financial gain,’ Raphael continued as if hearing her inner monologue.

‘What if he finds a way around it? What if he drags the Metatron into all of this? Or the Seraphim? He can be quite convincing if you don’t personally know what a complete bastard he is.’

‘I highly doubt he’s smart enough to do that. And anyway, I have eyes on the inside. Me being down here doesn’t mean I don’t keep track of what happens back Upstairs.’

‘So you’ll take care of it? If something happens?’

‘Of course I will, Joph. You know me. When have I ever turned down a challenge?’

‘Well, that one time in Padua springs to mind -’

‘I was being rhetorical!’

The auctioneer was going back and forward between two very heated bidders. They had reached maybe 300 000 dollars. She was a bit rusty about the rouble exchange rate. It was the painting with the squiggly lines. 

She took Raphael’s auction paddle and got to her feet.

‘My friend here would really like that squiggly monstrosity. One million dollars!’

Nevermind that the auction was dealing with another currency altogether. A million dollars was a million dollars at the end of the day.

She turned towards Raphael and smiled widely. He was giving her a death stare.

‘What? It’s _avantgarde_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for projecting stuff when Jophiel is involved but I do believe that an Angel called 'The Beauty Of God' would not endorse "Contemporary Art".


	42. The Lion of Godde wilt sayeth aye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ariel (not the little mermaid, or the detergent- as it has been pointed out) unwillingly says yes to Aziraphale's Fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Seeing they were silly buggers comes later

**Unspecified point in time because well, Heaven.  
Heaven.**

** _The Lion of Godde wilt sayeth aye butte then see that they were sillie buggres all along._ **

Michael strolled down one of the brightly lit hallways, papers in hand. She planned on doing this alone this time since that oaf, Gabriel, threw a fit at Peliel and got the HR involved.

Sure, this had been Gabriel’s idea to begin with, but, soon enough, Michael got roped in and she very much wanted the plan to succeed. She had poked around the Archives for more than a dozen times until that bitch Pravuil changed the password. More than enough times to see Aziraphale doing just fine and dandy and continuing to spend time with the demon. No consequences. No reprimands. No nothing. He was as free as a bird. That didn’t sit well with her. If she failed to do her job there would be consequences and reprimands. It wasn’t fair. And she had always been just a bit envious of how some of the other Angels had it.

There was Gabriel and his tight grip on basically everyone else. He behaved as if the Almighty Herself put him in charge.

There were the Seraphim and the Cherubim who slacked off since bloody forever but were too high up on the chain of command for anyone to say anything about it.

There was bloody Pravuil and she always did as she pleased. Michael didn’t like that. There needed to be order. And discipline. And she should have been the one in charge of that order to begin with. She thought about Gabriel some more and her lip curled up in a sneer. _It was in the bloody name, wasn’t it? She Who Is As God. So why wasn’t she treated as such?_

Then of course there was that goddamn sod Azrael and he always got away with each and every nasty shit he pulled.

That particular sod nearly bumped into her as he made his way from a side corridor.

‘Oh, hiyah sis!’

She groaned.

‘Watcha got there?’

She tried giving him the raised eyebrow treatment but she knew, deep down, it wouldn’t work on him so she gave up eventually.

‘You know full well what it is, please stop playing dumb. It’s very annoying.’

‘Ooh, we’re getting little Ari in the mix, now that’s interesting. Mind if I tag along?’

She did in fact. She did mind. Very much.

‘Why would you possibly want that?’

‘Dunno. ‘M bored, I guess.’

Michael threw him a look that could curdle milk.

‘You’re bored.’

‘Yeah. Very. Why did you think I signed that thing to begin with?’

She placed her palm on her forehead and groaned some more.

‘Maybe because he helped avert the fucking Apocalypse, Azrael!’ she all but yelled at him.

‘Nah, would have been even more boring after our lot won. I’m actually glad he helped stopping it, just so you know.’

‘For Heaven’s sake, why _did_ you sign then?’ She did want Aziraphale punished, but this was insanity, plain and simple.

‘Told you. I’m bored. This is the most exciting thing I’ve done in aeons. I don’t even care if he Falls or not. I just want to be there when it happens. Or doesn’t. The Lord works in mysterious ways.’

‘Oh, sod off! And please abstain from telling me about how the Lord works. It’s _in the name_!’

It was Azrael’s time to groan. And then roll his eyes.

‘I know, Michael. You’ve said. A hundred thousand times. She Who Is As God. Everybody knows. From the chief of the Seraphim to the Angels doing maintenance. You do seem to mention it every other day. Overcompensating maybe?’

She could smite him right here on the spot. But you didn’t smite other Angels. It wasn’t proper. And Michael was all about being proper.

‘What would you bring to the table, then?’

‘Oh?’

‘If you were to ‘tag along’ as you’ve put it?’

‘My infinite charm and power of persuasion, of course. Both things that Gabriel seriously lacks. So, you’ll want me along for the ride on this. I can be very convincing when I want to be.’

‘Alright. What’s in it for you, though? If you don’t even care if he Falls or not.’

‘Should I expand on how utterly and completely bored I am? And anyway, you need me if you plan on convincing Ari to sign. If you go to her and tell her that she should sign because Aziraphale stopped the Apocalypse then you would be one signature short. Remember all the strongly worded notes she sent about there being an Apocalypse in the first place. No, this needs a different approach altogether. So? Are we alright? Can I come along for the ride?’

‘No, I, um, it’s fine. Everything’s fine. Tag along. Or don’t. See if I care.’

He tagged along. They found Ariel in her office, biting her nails as she watched some documentaries about mass deforestation on a big projector screen.

She heard the door opening and turned towards them with tears in her eyes.

Ariel was altogether beautiful. But in the same sense that the Amazon jungle was beautiful. Her skin was amber. Her hair was a mass of curls that almost reached her mid-back, wild and untamed and all over the place, much like a lion’s mane. Her eyes were golden and clashed in a breathtaking way with her dark skin. They were red at the edges for the moment.

‘Oh, Ari! What troubles you so?’ Azrael closed the distance between them in seconds and wrapped his arms around her in a very protective-big-brother sort of way. If Michael hadn’t heard his earlier comments about him being both bored and very, very convincing, she would have believed this display to be altogether honest. _Maybe it even was_. For all his faults, Azrael had always had a soft spot for Ariel.

‘It’s everything! They’re doing so much harm, and for what? Some extra money? Why does money even matter when lives are at stake?’ she nearly sobbed into Azrael’s shoulder, any and all ideas about profit, the economy and whatever makes a multi-million dollars corporation tick being lost on her.

‘They do make an awful mess. And it started with that bloody Industrial Revolution, didn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ Ariel wiped away a tear and cleared her throat wanting to garner a minimum of decorum.

‘You know who’s fault it is, don’t you?’

‘All of them. By and large. She called them one of Her most perfect creations for nothing! Oh, shit! I’m blaspheming again!’

‘No, no. You’re alright. They are what She says they are. But they do get tempted rather easily. And we all know the demon Crowley had a hand in that, now don’t we?’

This was said with a very pointed look in Michael’s direction.

‘Oh. Yes. Rather.’

Azrael threw Michael a loaded glare.

‘The Industrial Revolution was all Crowley’s fault. Demons, you know,’ Azrael commented urging Michael to pick up as if this was an improv show and she had to come up with the replies on the fly. She wasn’t very good at it.

‘Managed to kill a lot of animals, all of that technological advancement. Maybe that was his plan to begin with,’ Michael said.

‘Demons do whatever they want to make sure they destroy the Almighty’s creations,’ Ariel agreed.

‘What about Angels, though?’ Azrael whispered into her wild curls.

‘What about us? We should make sure that demons are properly dealt with and protect the Earth.’

Michael looked at Azrael with a very hard to read expression. He was right. The sod was right. If you wanted to convince Ariel to sign you only needed to play on her weaknesses. There were a lot of them at the moment since humanity said fuck all and started messing with everything. She knew Crowley wasn’t involved. She really, _really_ knew Aziraphale wasn’t involved. _But what’s a little bit of deceit every now and then?_ It’s a lot when you’re an Angel and you should probably do the right thing. But Angels are fickle and they always want to be right. _So maybe a little lie would go a long way_. And Michael has never been a perfect Angel, come to think of it. _None of them were, really_.

‘But what if Angels and demons worked together?’

‘What?’

‘We do have some intel about our Earth-bound Angel. He seems to spend quite a lot of time with the demon Crowley.’

A set of pictures with the two of them together suddenly materialised in Michael’s hand. Ariel stepped tentatively towards her and took the pictures with a trembling hand. 

‘No, this can’t be right. I knew him. He was working in the Garden last time I spoke to him. He loved all of the animals and the plants and everything really. He wouldn’t do such a thing.’

‘And yet here’s proof he strayed quite a bit since then,’ Michael pointed out. 

Azrael sighed. Both Gabriel and Michael were complete rubbish when subtlety was involved.

‘Ari, darling, thing is a lot of time has passed since then. And our little Angel seems to have fallen prey to some demonic wiles.’

‘Maybe he only wants to set the demon on the righteous path?’ Ariel asked with a note of doubt in her tone.

‘You remember that awful mess that was the Apocalypse, don’t you?’ Azrael smiled for only Michael to see.

‘Yes. I wrote a lot of notes about that.’

‘That you did, darling. But do you remember that beforehand, the boy – what’s his name?’

‘Adam,’ Michael supplied.

‘Yes, Adam, that’s right. Do you remember what he did?’

Ariel thought about it. Back when she first heard about the Apocalypse she had a major crisis of faith. Not as big as the one she had back during the Flood. Maybe if she hadn’t reacted so strongly about that she would still have all of her powers.

At the time she didn’t even consider it wrong. The Almighty wouldn’t do such a thing, surely. She pointed that out for all to hear. And then she had a heated debate with Gabriel over it. And then yelled her heart out at the Metatron and threw quite the fit.

Heaven was famous for their strongly worded notes. But every so often they found more inspired ways of reprimanding their Angels. Such as taking away their powers to make sure they kept their heads down. She had been made quite an example of. It was still the early days and people, well - Angels, remembered the Fall very well. They remembered what happened when Angels questioned God and God’s will. And there had been quite a lot of blaspheming involved at the time. Upper management didn’t look kindly at that.

So when the Apocalypse came around she did what all the other Angels did. Write some strongly worded notes. She didn’t have it in her to fight with the passion she had fought with when she heard God wanted to drown everyone and everyone’s pet. _What had the animals done to deserve it? No matter, we’re past that. Ariel, get a grip or you’ll start blaspheming again. _

She couldn’t see the point really. Even if the Earth wouldn’t destroy itself to fit Heaven’s agenda, the humans did a spectacular job of destroying it on the long term. The ice caps, and the great coral reef and the Amazon forest. The rhinos and the polar bears and the bloody pandas. All of that mindless pollution. Her eyes lit up with divine fury. _Reign it it, that’s right, you’ve got it._

Adam Young. Yes, he had done extraordinary things just before he stopped the bloody war. He cared about the world and the environment. Since all she could do was just passively observe from the sidelines, she did her fair share of observing the young child that single-handedly stopped the End of days even if it was his life’s mission to be the one to bring it about. 

When she first heard about the Antichrist being delivered, she started asking around about who and where he was. Angels are prone to gossip so she found out soon enough that it was a young boy called Warlock and kindly asked Pravuil if she could use the Archives. Pravuil waved at her dismissively to _‘knock herself out’_ while scrolling on her Heaven issued phone that seemed to have developed a glittery case with a very misshapen kitten on it.

So she went and looked and, from the moment she laid her eyes on the boy, she could tell something was off. _They haven’t stripped her of all her powers, now have they?_ She could still feel the goodness and innocence in people’s hearts. It wasn’t in the same way that Sandalphon could sense evil. Well, maybe it was, but a lot more focused and precise. She probed around his tiny little heart and could feel no evil. None, whatsoever. He was what - not even a week old. She should still feel the Hellish influences around him. They wouldn’t disappear completely, not so fast, at least. She should tell someone. _Maybe not_, she told herself as flashes of waves upon waves crashing into each other filled her mind and she could hear her broken screams as if everything had happened yesterday.

There was a room. Of sorts. It wasn’t necessarily a void in the same way that Gabriel wasn’t necessarily a bad Angel. It had its uses. And after a week spent in that place you reevaluated every and all aspects of your life. She had spent a month there.

_No_, she’d tell no one. On the off chance that maybe this will help and stop the bloody thing. But she did continue to investigate.

She spent days searching through the files. Weeks even. Searching the hearts of all the new born she could find. And then suddenly, there it was. In a quaint little village, some hours away from London. A spark of Hellish influence. It was very faint – weeks had passed, after all – but it was there.

Adam Young. She spent a lot of time over the years observing the boy. And as time went by the little spark died completely. He had the power to influence the environment, power that she had lost millennia ago. And he used it without knowing he did. The whole area flourished – from lush greens to forests full of woodland animals. There have never been so many animals around the area maybe ever. No one hunted anything, no one hurt anything. And then the End of the World came and what did the brilliant little man do? He made the Amazon rainforest grow twice as wide. Ariel could bloody kiss him. And then he stopped the Apocalypse. She very much liked Adam Young.

She said as much.

Azrael’s grin widened. 

‘Well, you see, Aziraphale spent a lot of time with him in the last years. What would you do if you were to spend time with Adam, knowing about the power at his disposal?’

‘I would ask him to put a stop to it all, obviously!’

‘Makes you wonder why Aziraphale hasn’t done it, now doesn’t it?’

Ariel opened her mouth. Then shut it. Then opened it again. It did actually. Make her wonder.

The problem was that, for all her good intentions, Ariel had spent the better part of the last four thousand years cooped up in Heaven. So she was a bit rusty when interactions with humans were concerned. And so she had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that _no, you could not just tell a teenager to fix everything everywhere in the world and consider that to be a Heavenly influence_. 

‘It is odd, isn’t it?’

‘It isn’t, actually. He has been influenced by the demon to the other side. So we plan on having him Fall. And we need you to sign this,’ Michael extended the papers.

‘_What_? NO! Absolutely not!’

Azrael threw Michael the most done with expression he was capable of. Then he sighed.

‘Ari, darling, you have to understand -’

‘No no, no no no, don’t Ari me, Az. You always think you can butter me up and then I’ll come along and play nice, but this is monstrous!’ she backed away from the two of them, eyes wide and hands held protectively in front of her.

‘He spent all of this time fraternising with a demon, Ariel,’ Michael muttered through gritted teeth.

‘Well, like I said, maybe he wanted to redeem him -’

‘He performed temptations for said demon. I went back and searched the miracle log myself.’

‘He wouldn’t…’

‘Yes. For a long while now he has been doing a demon’s job. Makes you wonder about that whole industrial revolution thing. Maybe it was his grand work to begin with. We all know how lazy he is, slacking around and never doing his job properly and now we know why. Oh. That’s one of the seven big ones. Sloth. So maybe he grew tired of riding horses and preferred to go by train instead. Remember the early days? All of that coal?’

Ariel hissed.

‘Gabriel tells me he also consumes gross matter. Meat even, and he doesn’t miracle it, he _buys_ it. Love for all of God’s creatures great and small, right Ariel? He obviously doesn’t have it. And he doesn’t even _need_ to eat. That’s Gluttony. Hmm, what else is there?’

Ariel had some very conflicted thoughts at the moment. She had met Aziraphale and she had liked him at the time, that much she remembered. He was supposed to guard the Eastern Gate but he did anything but that, usually following her around and asking heaps of questions about all of the animals that she had helped create. He had seemed to like them at the time. 

Michael started carding through the pile of pictures and extended one to Ariel who took it with shaking hands. It was of the both of them, Aziraphale and Crowley sitting in a restaurant. Aziraphale was eating steak. _Steak_. Ariel drew a deep breath. Even the demon had the good grace not to eat anything.

She had never ever eaten anything in her life. That was mostly due to the fact that she had spent the last four thousand years in Heaven and that the body she had been issued with initially had been revoked after her little ‘episode’. But even if she were to spend her every waking hour on Earth, she would never eat meat. Or dairy. _Well, she’d try some fruit_, she’s always been curious. She remembered how in awe Aziraphale had been when she showed him the swans. Had even tried petting one of them and got an open gash on his arm for it. And here he was. Eating steak. She felt her eyes lighting up yet again. _No, Ariel, focus! You’ve met him. You know him. He’s not evil. He’s maybe just…lost his way?_

‘Oh, there’s also Lust, obviously,’ Azrael butted in.

‘Lust?’ Ariel looked from one to the other with a puzzled expression. _Weren’t they just talking about food just now?_

‘Yeah, how do you suppose the demon got him on the other side?’ Azrael continued. Even Michael was eyeing him dubiously. ‘They’re probably at it right now. Orgies or whatever evil and depraved things that demons take pleasure in.’

‘Orgies.’

‘Yeah. Lots of them. Tons.’

He looked at Michael expectantly.

‘Yeah, why not, heaps. All of the orgies. Probably doing something like that as we speak,’ Michael said casually and made a mental note to find out what those were.

As they spoke Aziraphale was at a small book fair and was very happy to have landed some good deals on some priceless first editions. Crowley was on the other side of London trying to convince Warlock to stop being his nasty little self for just a minute, thank you very much. They would have been very taken aback to find out they were supposed to be doing another thing entirely.

‘I really don’t think -’

‘Oh and there’s Wrath, of course. That one time he spat actual Hellfire at three other Angels,’ Azrael continued.

‘_What?_’

‘The time when we first wanted to punish him for his crimes,’ Michael replied and gears started to slowly turn. Ariel didn’t know about the Hellfire. Of course, all Angels gossiped like mad, but Ariel always kept to herself and spent her time alone in the Archives looking at plants or whatever. A wide smile spread on her face. 

‘Ariel, you keep saying that he could change or redeem himself but surely you must have heard – he is the angel that survived Hellfire.’

She had indeed heard something vague about that. But she hadn’t paid it much mind since it was absolutely impossible. She was in shock.

‘You do realise there’s no coming back from that. So just do us all a favour and sign the damn thing. We’re going to Fall him regardless.’

‘So why do you even need my signature?’

‘To show that you’re a team player. Obviously. After the _‘Incident’_ we all had doubts.’

Ariel cringed. Visibly. _Good_, Michael could work with that.

‘Do you want me to string Gabriel along?’

‘Mnhn….no.’

‘He could have some words with you about the Room.’

‘No, no, that’s not necessary. Give me the pen.’

Michael smiled widely while Azrael threw her a hateful glare.

‘Just, leave me out of stuff like this in the future. I didn’t like the first Fall. I don’t like this one either. Okay, Hellfire does sound a bit much. But have you even tried getting him to come around?’

‘Well, there’s the Room, of course -’

‘Just try talking to him is what I meant! And stop talking about the bloody Room! You know what, get out, the both of you and never come back here again! I’ve signed your bloody thing, now leave me be!’

This time her eyes did light up and she did nothing to stop it. Michael cleared her throat, gathered the pictures and the list of names and was out the door in seconds. Azrael quickly followed and the door was bolted shut behind them.

‘That was low, Michael!’

‘I wasn’t going for soft and cuddly, Azrael. We are planning on Falling an Angel, just what did you expect?’

‘You never said you’d be bringing that up or I would have never joined.’

‘You’re the one that talked to me about joining, not the other way around, so don’t spring this on me, sunshine.’

‘You’re a really bad Angel, you know that, right?’

‘Oh and look at you, Mister High and Mighty, _'I’m going to Fall an Angel just because I’m bored'_. At least I believe he needs to Fall. You? You’re just a hateful prick. Have fun trying to reconnect with Ariel the next thousand years. Somehow I doubt that she’ll even pick up the phone. You played her like a fiddle, now aren’t you proud?’

Azrael had the good grace to look guilty. Michael loved each and every minute of it.

‘This couldn’t have gone any better if I planned the whole thing. Gabriel is somewhere licking his wounds. Ariel is miserable. You’re miserable because you and you alone made her doubt herself. So where does that leave me? Oh, right. I just got a signature that I wouldn’t have gotten if you hadn’t decided to be nasty. Well done, you,’ she smiled a mock smile and patted his cheek.

Azrael stayed in the corridor outside Ariel's office for quite a long while, pacing incessantly.

‘Goddammit!’ he managed to hiss at some point. He just wanted some excitement. That excitement didn’t involve Ari relieving some of her most painful memories. Nor did it involve an Angel actually Falling because he was being a shit. It was for the first time that he realised the implications of what he did.

‘God_fucking_dammit!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel protagonists, or at least mentioned:  
Gabriel – messanger Archangel. ‘The Strength of God’  
Michael - warrior Archangel. 'She who is as God'  
Azrael - Archangel of Death. 'He who God Helps'  
Ariel - Archangel of the environment. 'The Lion of God'  
Peliel - Angel in charge of the Virtues  
Pravuil – Angel in charge of the records of Heaven
> 
> All of the Angels think their lot would have won.  
Also, I don't know if you noticed, but in all the Angel chapters they refer to themselves as Angels with a capital letter. In all of the other chapters they're just plain angels.  
Overcompensating, maybe? - as Azrael put it.
> 
> *Also, and this is very important (who am I kidding, it's just mindless crack): Pravuil has a glittery Hello Kitty phone case.


	43. Sweet Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which all the kids are hormonal messes and their parents are completely oblivious about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So are Crowley and Aziraphale but that's only because they can't keep their eyes off each other.

**Saturday. Five years and two days after the end of the world. 5pm.  
Jasmine Cottage. Exterior.**

Warlock had not been your average fifteen-year-old and he most definitely was not your average sixteen-year-old now that he was finally sixteen. And two days. They were having a party in Anathema’s backyard with cake and balloons and party hats and the like. They had postponed the party itself from the day it was actually supposed to be on so that it fell on the weekend. Seeing as Warlock and Adam had become quite inseparable in the last five years it was very hard to tell them no when they decided on having a joint party. And, of course, they couldn’t have them partying on a school-day. 

Mrs. Dowling was making some polite conversation with the Youngs in the way people who didn’t know much about each other would make polite conversation. It was slightly awkward and they all stared into their cups for quite a bit. But their kids were best friends after all, so they made an effort. 

Thadeus was in the States at the moment. He had announced he would be throwing a huge birthday party for Warlock where everyone who was anyone would get invited. That meant to say all of his father’s friends or other people from the State Department and their boring kids. Warlock had thrown a fit. So they weren’t on speaking terms at the moment. Hadn’t even gotten a birthday message from his father. That had seemed to anger his mother quite a bit and then a shouting match over the phone had started and Warlock went to his room and started blasting music on the speakers. _Fuck him anyway, he was a complete knob._

So no, Warlock wasn’t what you had in mind when you pictured sixteen-year-olds. At least not when compared with the rest of the Them. 

He was quite an avid reader for one. And he didn’t read e-books or listen to audio-books. He spent more time than most people would in old bookshops. Well, one old bookshop in particular. He had an affinity for Goethe, Nietzsche and Baudelaire. He had to, if he wanted to maintain the particular aesthetic he was choosing to portray. 

He also spent quite a lot of time in a certain demon’s apartment. He even had a set of keys. 

When he had first started arguing with his father like mad and had been found wandering around the streets at night, thanks to some demonic intervention, Mrs. Dowling had received a very angry phone call and they have decided in between the two of them that whenever Warlock would have such a spat with his father, it would be best for them all to know where he was. So that meant Crowley’s apartment. 

He would go there every other week, outside of their already established upon meetings. He would just arrive at twelve o’clock in the evening and they would watch movies and they would never talk about it. But Warlock would always wake up the next day much more chipper than when he came and then Crowley would drive him home. 

And sometimes Warlock would even call him in advance to tell him he would bring someone over – thing that he couldn’t do back at his so Crowley had reason enough to spend the night at the angel’s place. _Win-win, that._

Aziraphale always smiled when Crowley would call and say his apartment was no longer his for the night. He would always comment about young love and everything else and the demon didn’t have it in him to tell him that whatever Warlock was doing had nothing whatsoever to do with love. It didn’t matter anyway. It looked like all of the parties involved got something out of it. 

Warlock was quite tall for his age, almost as tall as Crowley, and sported the same two-meals-short-of-a-healthy-diet look that the demon did. 

His hair was kept long, sometimes caught in a bun but, more often than not, in a loose braid slung over one shoulder. He knew it drove his father off the wall and he took great pleasure in it. He was also more prone to darker colours, Crowley having quite a lot of influence in that department. Leather, studs, spikes, ripped jeans and the like. He sometimes experimented with lace but he would always get nasty looks and rude comments around school when he would do that. 

His nails were always painted black but also always chipped off from him developing the habit of biting them whenever he read. Which was all the time. 

He also had a cigarette stuck behind his ear. _Always_. Just to complement the whole image. 

He didn’t actually smoke. He had tried it back when he was almost fifteen, much to his mother’s chagrin, albeit the fact that she did nothing to stop him. 

It was on one of the occasions that Crowley came to pick him up for the weekend that he was having a cigarette outside the manor when the Bentley drove to a halt, the demon dashing out of the car and making a beeline for him. 

‘Wha-’ he managed to splutter as Crowley grabbed the cigarette and tossed it angrily away, setting it on fire completely. _Probably Hellfire_ judging by how he clenched his jaw and nearly steamed in annoyance. 

‘If I ever catch you smoking again, kid, I swear to Someone -’ 

‘What’s the big deal? You used to sneak around for a smoke after you thought I went to sleep all the time.’ He did do that. Those had been the most stressful years of Crowley’s life. 

‘Supernatural immortal entity,’ Crowley said as he pointed to himself, ‘Weak human kid,’ he pointed at Warlock. 

‘Yeah, well -’ 

‘Don’t you ‘yeah, well’ me, War! If I ever catch you smoking again you’ll have me properly cross and trust me, you don’t want that happening. Do you remember the duck business?’ 

Warlock nodded and gulped. 

‘This time it’ll get a hundred times worse.’ 

Warlock nodded again and his shoulders sank. 

‘It was just for show, anyway. I didn’t much like how they taste.’ 

Crowley’s expression softened. _Just for show_ he could understand. _Wasn’t that what he himself was doing most of the time?_ The clothes and the hair and the electronics changing so much you’d think he was running away from something. The insane speed of the Bentley. Him asking Aziraphale to run off together. _Maybe he was actually running away_. From his feelings of inadequacy. From the self hatred that gripped him each and every time he thought that his mere presence was a serious threat for the angel Falling but being too weak to actually do something about it. From the reality of never getting what he wanted. 

Warlock was just putting up a front. Setting his line of defences against a cruel and uncaring world. And if that front made him look like every teenage dirt-bag that thought looking punk and doing drugs was a suit of armour then so be it. As long as it was just a front. 

‘Here,’ he said as he took the cigarette pack from Warlock’s hands and took one out and placed it behind the boy’s ear. ‘Serves the same purpose minus the countless diseases and health problems. Oh and I’m keeping these. You’ve got quite good taste, actually.’ 

‘Hey, that’s not fair!’ 

‘Not supposed to be fair. Demon, you know?’ 

Warlock had huffed at him and then even threw a pout in the mix, in proper teenage fashion, and that had been that. 

He was leaning against the fence with a glass of Coke in one hand (that was just a little bit whiskey-infused with some of the expensive stuff he had nicked out of his father’s stash) and a pink party hat that he told everyone he was wearing ironically on top of his head. He had been in a heated conversation with Adam about the ways you could defeat the boss in the latest game they were playing when Pepper came around with a plateful of sweets. She placed it within grasp of all of the three of them and then proceeded to snake her hand around Adam’s while she threw a side glance to the angel and the demon. 

Some miracle work had been involved into not having either Mrs. Dowling or the Youngs asking questions about the two of them, especially now that they were in each other’s company and it would have been very easy to reach to the point when either of them would be like _‘What do you mean they’re my son’s godparents, I thought they were yours‘.’_ If that certain miracle was either angelic or demonic was a whole mystery altogether. 

Crowley and Aziraphale were eyeing the pastries. _Well_, Aziraphale was eyeing the pastries and Crowley was eyeing Aziraphale. Warlock, seeing Pepper turn towards them, threw a glance at them both and groaned. Both Pepper and Adam caught notice of it soon enough. 

They were an item now. Had been an item for more than a year. They held hands every so often and Adam’s parents approved of that. It was good, proper courtship. Adam’s parents also approved of the fact that those two complete strangers that had waltzed into their lives five years ago - _but they were godparents to that darling boy, now weren’t they, and quite good with the kids too, right_ – were, on all planes of existence but this one, an old married couple. They were very happy that the both of them just kept throwing loving stares at one another and didn’t do anything else about it. Especially not in front of the kids. The kids in question weren’t happy at all. They were anything but that since they weren’t kids, but teenagers by now, and everything of import was about sex. 

‘Why don’t we just say anything? Just sit them both down and tell them they just need to fuck it out,’ Warlock further explained. 

‘Because there’s such a thing as free will and doing that would only mess up with that. It's their decision to make. You know we've all tried talking to them separately about it,’ Pepper replied while eyeing both of the boys with a raised eyebrow. She had learned about their bet sometime in the last month and had been quite vehement about it. To Adam, at least. 

‘Pep, you’re being quite the hypocrite. If I hadn’t bugged you about telling Adam for hundreds of times you’d be still throwing lovesick stares at each other instead of snogging for a full half hour out back. I saw that, you know, for all that your folks think you’re just holding hands and being all innocent.’ 

‘Shut it, War. You’re being a cheeky fucker and I really don’t like when you’re a cheeky fucker,’ Pepper scolded him. 

‘And you’re being a bore. You only see them every other month. I see them every weekend and I’m so tired of it already. It was bad enough with you two and it took you what, a year?’ 

He eyed Adam for a while since they were both well aware of how Warlock had done the same thing for the two of them, whispering in both their ears about how they should just get together already since they were both using him as a shoulder to cry on about all of that nonsense. 

‘I do have videos of both of them saying it, you know.’ 

‘That’s not very nice of you,’ Adam said disapprovingly. 

‘I was sort of raised by a demon, I’m not a particularly nice person.’ 

‘Come on, you know that dark and brooding stuff doesn’t work on me, War.’ 

‘I’m just saying, if they keep at it much longer, I might as well take matters into my own hands and just show them the recordings.’ 

‘You know that would invalidate the bet. Not to mention that it’s not the right thing to do.’ 

‘Look at me, getting morality lessons from the actual son of Satan.’ 

‘Stop calling me that!’ 

‘Sorry, Adam, I took it a bit too far.’ 

Warlock raised his hands to apologise. He knew how tetchy Adam would get when people called him that. 

‘It’s just…you weren’t _there_. You don’t know how hard it was for me to just stop doing it. And whenever someone mentions it I keep thinking back to it and to what I would have unleashed if I gave in.’ 

‘I’m really sorry. I was being a shit.’ 

‘You were, but then again, when aren’t you?’ 

‘Now that’s more like it,’ Warlock replied with a chuckle. 

‘You’re both being shits even thinking about placing a bet like that.’ 

Adam had been properly scolded for it for the last month. _But Warlock should be too_, Pepper thought. 

‘Hey, it’s going to happen eventually. _Hopefully_. I don’t even know by this point. You know Adam first said that for his money they’re never going to get together.’ 

‘I then said it’s going to be next year.’ 

‘I think it’ll be this year. I’m going to do everything in my power to make it happen.’ 

‘Free will, War. Their own decision. Just leave them be.’ 

‘Oh, are you kids going on about that again?’ 

Anathema had sauntered in their direction at some point and had caught Pepper’s comment. 

‘Do leave them be, please. You have no idea how mind-numbigly frustrating it is to have someone else tell you that you should do things in a certain way.’ 

‘And still, you got that Prophecy and now you and Newt are together. Maybe it helped?’ Warlock asked, all innocently. 

‘Maybe it did and maybe it didn’t. I felt like such a shit afterwards that I wanted to burn the whole thing. Not about Newt, but about the whole thing altogether. So yeah, Pepper’s right. Free will and everything. Don’t spring it on them like that.’ 

‘I’m generally right about most things,’ Pepper commented. 

‘Yeah, and also very humble,’ Anathema said with a smirk. ‘Okay kids, this has been a pleasure, try to refrain from springing it on them and buckle up, we’re having cake next!’ 

‘Yeah, Theema, whatever you say,’ Adam stated with a wide smile. One would even say an innocent one if one didn’t know he was the actual son of Satan. 

‘Yeah, Theem, whatever you say,’ Warlock added with a wide grin, like a proper menace. 

Then there was gift giving and receiving and both of them squealed when Warlock got a huge, leather-bound Encyclopedia from the Youngs and Adam got a VR set from Mrs. Dowling. 

Aziraphale had promised them both a weekend in Paris as a birthday gift and all of the parents involved sighed a sigh of relief at having their kids on the other side of the pond for two days at least. Those two had always been life saviours in the taking the kids off their hands department for the last five years and Aziraphale seemed very trustworthy indeed. So they didn’t object one bit. Sixteen-year-olds were hard to deal with even if they were particularly nice. And since one of them was the son of Satan and the other was a complete pain in the arse, they weren’t. _Being particularly nice_, that was. A lot of talk about crepes had been involved to everyone's general confusion. 

Crowley had promised Warlock that he would let him drive the Bentley whenever he got a driving license. He had probably thought that to happen in the distant future, two years from now. But the thing was that Warlock was actually an American citizen. And, as soon as all of the birthday nonsense ended, he very much planned on flying to the States and getting his driving license. He had wanted to drive that car since he was like five. He would be damned if he didn’t get to drive it this year. 

Adam got a telescope since he was the more practical one out of the two of them. And also since he always kept bugging Crowley about the stars. 

Then they ate cake and Warlock poured himself some more whiskey when no one was paying attention and Adam and Pepper sneaked off back for another snogging session when Brian and Wesley managed to tip the table over while playing with Dog. And all the while their parents commented about how sweet and innocent their kids were being. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: Warlock never brought anyone over at Crowley's place. He just wanted time to himself and felt like the demon should spend some time at the angel's place every now and again.
> 
> I really want to draw sixteen-year-old Adam and Warlock the way I imagine them to be - which is complete opposites, but I haven't drawn in years now, so I don't think I can do them justice. Big bummer, that.
> 
> Next chapter is going to be an Aziraphale chapter and the ones after that (with minor intermissions) are going to be Aziraphale/Crowley chapters. Don't think I completely got sidetracked about writing only about secondary characters.
> 
> Please do comment, you good people! I've worked so very hard for this fic and I really enjoy your input on it.


	44. When the Deville be upon thine door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter I've been ranting in the comments about. So, my good people, here goes:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @IDontHaveACleverQuip for proofreading this literally forever ago.  
So, folks, there you have it - BAMF Aziraphale!

**Saturday. Five years and ten days after the end of the world. 8pm.  
London Soho. Exterior.**

** _When the Deville be upon thine door, behind thy shoppe of other people’s books, ye must be wily, Principalitie, as he seeketh a mighty vengeance._ **

Aziraphale was walking back to his shop one evening, fretting about how much longer he could keep the bookshop closed pretending it was ‘under renovation’ while no apparent renovation works were taking place, when he felt it. A shiver running down his spine, everything around him turning suddenly very cold. Sandalphon wasn’t the only one able to sense evil. All angels were. And he knew this particular feeling could only mean one thing. Demon. _Not Crowley, obviously_. Crowley had never felt, to his angelic heart, particularly demonic.

The thing was, Aziraphale was never actually in any real danger to begin with. Not that the demon in question had any way of knowing that. And that was for two entirely different reasons. 

The first one was that the angel had, for some time now, been in possession of a rather Nice and Accurate Book of Prophecies – The Sequel. So, he was not at all surprised when he felt the demonic presence lurking about. Demons, by and large, had no knowledge they could be sensed by angels, not taking the time of day to inquire about it. Preparations had already been made by one very bookish, and, at the same time, very mischievous angel about this encounter in particular. Aziraphale couldn’t help but smirk as, instead of continuing walking in the brightly-lit street, he made a left into one of the dark alleyways behind the shop. The presence followed. _Good_.

The second reason was that, throughout history, and, _to be fair_, even before history properly began, whoever took even a side glance at Aziraphale came to the following conclusions: 1. That he was soft. Which he was, but only when he wanted to. 2. That he was naive. Which he wasn’t, but it did save him from a lot of trouble with Headoffice along the years. _Oh, that wasn’t very angelic of me? If only I’d known better, I promise it won’t happen next time_. 3. That he was helpless. And this had always been his favourite thing to project. It made Crowley jump through hoops to make sure he was safe – and even if Aziraphale had no intention of defying Heaven and jumping into bed with Crowley at the time - _who was he kidding, he had each and every intention it was just that Heaven still scared him shitless_, it was nice to see Crowley going on full knight in a shining armour mode on him. He felt loved. It also made him look very weak and very disposable in Heaven’s books. And that was good. Because the Heavenly Host, by and large, wanted to feel superior, wanted to feel in control. He didn’t feel like a proper threat, so they left him be. Poor, meek, helpless Aziraphale. They let him be, basking in their own feelings of superiority. 

What people quite often forgot, especially when he played his part well, as he had done for the last 6000 years, was that he was a soldier. Guardian of the Eastern Gate. Protector of Eden. And a very strong, very cold and conniving son of a bitch. At least when he needed to be. The demon followed. He had ways of making his heavenly essence unknown. He had been inside a demon’s body, after all. He summoned all of that up and he lurked in the shadows behind a tall stack of crates as he was eyeing the demon make his way to the end of the alley. A dead end. And just beneath him, a sewage drain. Not that it had been a sewage drain for the last five years, at least. It was a very well contained water-tank. The demon huffed in annoyance at losing its prey and just as he was turning around, Aziraphale drew him up by the lapels of his jacket and had him pinned against the wall. The cover of the drain miracled away, just like that.

‘Hello, Lord Hastur,’ he intoned in a very unangelic manner, Hastur realised. He looked at the water-tank underneath him and gulped.

‘Did you put two and two together, then?’

The demon nodded quite frantically.

‘Good. Would have hated to explain myself and give away my evil plans or whatever it is they do in those films Crowley loves so much.’

Hastur gulped again. This was very out of character. Yet here he was, A Duke of Hell, held quite forcefully against a wall by one of Heaven’s angels, over a tank of Holy Water. He knew it was Holy Water, his feet were already scorched by its divinity and he was one foot above the thing.

Hastur had known since the very beginning that going after an angel could only lead to two possible outcomes: ending the angel completely or getting royally screwed. He had tried to go after Crowley alone so many times - Hell only knew how hard he tried - and he was never successful. And then another thought started to occupy his mind. _What if he went after the angel instead?_ He knew how dangerous angels were, especially this one that managed to survive Hellfire but he didn't care anymore. 

Then the angel did the most unexpected thing and revealed his true form. _Oh, this was pure torture_. He couldn’t bare to look, but still, couldn’t take his eyes away from the multiple sets of wings and the myriad eyes searching in his very soul. He had forgotten how Divinity felt like and right now it felt like he was going to get seriously fucked.

‘Beelzebub’s going to hear about this and then you’re gonna regret it,’ he managed saying before a wave of unbridled mirth hit him. _The angel was laughing in his face_.

‘Are they now? The thing is, Lord Hastur, I know for a fact that you’ve gone rogue. Beelzebub wants nothing whatsoever to do with Crowley, or me for that matter. They’re scared. So _so_ very scared.’

Hastur looked at the angel again and realised for the first time they had every right to be afraid.

‘They won’t save you. Won’t even care if you disappeared completely. So, what could possibly stop me from doing that just now?’

Emotions washed over the demon in a haze. They could not bare to be contained anymore. And Aziraphale felt love and need and regret and sorrow. He had known all along, every since he had left Hell that if there was one demon to pursue them it would be Hastur. Beelzebub was properly terrified. As was Dagon. And, aside for the Morningstar himself – who appeared to have gone off sulking at the moment, all of the rest of them would not think to step an inch out of line. _Except Hastur_. He had ever since the trial. Aziraphale was surprised it took him so long.

‘It’s not fair,’ the demon spat at him. Crowley getting to do whatever he damn well pleases after what he did. Why should he get his happy ever after when…’ his voice broke down into a sob.

For a long moment only despair and loss passed over his face. Then cold resolve took over.

‘Just do it, already. There isn’t much point in going on anyway.’

‘Oh,’ the angel laughed. ‘This is even better than I hoped it would be,’ he said with such a cruel voice Hastur would bet he was one of the Damned already.

The grip on him weakened and he was placed down near the tank of Holy Water. He was quite free. 

‘Why did you go and do that for? You know I could kill you completely if I summoned Hellfire?’

‘Except you wouldn’t,’ the angel played his hand masterfully. ‘Heaven already tried that, remember?’

Hastur snarled at that.

‘You know, angels sense things, as much as demons do. And I have a very good friend who can alter reality.’

At this point Aziraphale snapped his fingers and an image of Ligur flashed before him. He threw himself at the image’s feet as if in prayer. _Oh Lord, oh Satan, please let him have his companion once more_. 

The image vanished.

He raised his eyes to the angel who was leaning on one of the grimy-looking walls of the alley, smiling with his myriad eyes.

‘You could have what you want. It’ll be a treat, on my part. Thing is, if you ever try to touch me or Crowley ever again, I’ll ask my new friend to make sure your companion would die one of the most gruesome deaths. And you’ll have to witness it over and over and over again.’

‘You’re not a very kind angel.’

‘Makes you think about why I haven’t perished in Hellfire.’

Hastur’s mind had an epiphany. And then he shoved the angel in the tankard of holy water. Mere seconds later the angel was hovering above him, pinning him yet again to a grimy alley wall. He was miracled clean and he was throwing a fit about his ruined clothes, but other than that, completely fine. 

He emerged from it completely unscathed and Hastur wanted to yell at the universe.

‘Do that again and I will make sure you witness Ligur’s death a hundred times a day.’

Hastur could swear that the Heavenly host was more brutal and more cruel than Hell could ever be.

‘So, do we have a deal, then?’ Aziraphale mouthed, with a wide smile. And, if Hastur hadn't known he was an angel, he would have pinned him to be one of the best tempting demons out of the Horde.

‘Alright, fine,’ he snarled.

‘If anything - _anything at all_ \- ever happens to Crowley, you should prepare for watching a certain something on repeat for all eternity. If I even hear word of Hell touching a single hair on his head, of even _thinking_ about it, remember, I am not a forgetful angel. And I do think we just made a deal. I don’t go back on deals, me.’

‘How can I control if other demons choose to hurt him? 

‘I don’t know. But I think it’s time you learned. _Fast_.’

‘What if Ligur wanted to hurt him? He _killed_ him! He should have _every_ right!’

‘Nothing that a short explanation about who holds all the cards shouldn’t clarify. If he knows what’s good for you both. If you make sure to properly put that into words for him to grasp the idea, then I don’t think we’ll have a problem. Same thing both ways. And I’m certain he would be just as saddened to see you perish as you him. I don’t have any qualms either way. Don’t much care for demons as a whole so I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. I only care about one demon in particular and trust me when I say I’ll burn down Heaven and Hell if anyone of you lot put your hands on him.’

Hastur gulped. He had heard of divine retribution. It was a thing that existed. _Apparently it was a thing that existed in relation to him, now_. He had never thought he’d fear an angel. _They were all soft and good and nice_. Apparently that had been a huge lie, back in 'Heaven 101'. He would need to tell them, obviously. _Except he couldn’t_, not if he wanted to keep Ligur safe.

Aziraphale seemed convinced that that was enough eldritch horror to impart on the demon for now, at least. He gathered back his wings and vanished his myriad eyes. Then he made a show out of straightening his bow-tie. Hastur was staring at him with something akin to wonder in his eyes. Or it would have been very close to that, were he not terrified out of his mind. _Of course Crowley loved him, he was downright evil_. More evil than the denizens of Hell could ever be.

With his most polite and innocent smile, a smile totally befitting an elderly bookkeeper and totally lost on an immortal being, especially on an immortal being that had just done _that_, Aziraphale snapped his fingers.

Somewhere in Oxfordshire a light-bulb lit up in an otherwise unlit room. It was by mere coincidence that the occupant of said room was actually there at the time. After all, he had a forest and a quarry and a whole village to revel in. But Agnes didn’t much care about coincidences. So the occupant in question, a sixteen-year-old boy in this particular case sighed a heavy sigh and concentrated on bending reality.

And, in a dimly lit alley in London Soho, a rather empty patch of air quickly took the shape of a not-so-recently-defunct demon.

Hastur stared. The newly reshaped Ligur stared.

Aziraphale gave them both a curt smile that did not quite reach his steel-cold eyes and made his way out of the alley.

‘What the fuck just happened?’ Aziraphale heard as he turned back to the brightly-lit street.

‘It’s quite a long story.’

‘I’ve got time.’

‘Yes. _Yes_, we’ve got all the time in the world now,’ Hastur said as his arms wrapped around his newly resurrected companion with unspeakable force.

A pause.

‘Was that an angel?’

‘I have no idea what that was.’

‘Shouldn’t we smite him?’

‘Not if we plan on having all that time I was talking about.’

‘Alright.’

Ligur had no idea why he seemed to take everything as lightly as he did but he knew something quite extraordinary had happened since the last time he was conscious and in his full mental capacity so he just went along with it. He trusted Hastur with that. He trusted Hastur till the ends of the Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thing is, Aziraphale could have plain and simply killed Hastur if he wanted to. Should have, in fact. But even when he was playing high and mighty and vengeful he avoided getting him killed. So it was all an act and he actually did something good for the demon - he gave him his partner back - for all of his threats and eldritch horror - the complete cinnamon roll.


	45. An Angel and an Antichrist have a little talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans of killing certain demons are involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for it being such a short chapter. I just wanted to set the scene properly. What happens in this chapter takes place immediately after the 'I'll follow you into the dark' chapter. It's even mentioned briefly in it.

**Tuesday. 10 days after the end of the world. 11am  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

‘Hello, dear boy,’ Adam could hear from the receiver.

He had gotten over the angel nearly shooting him quick enough. He did not get over him making Crowley sad quite so quickly. 

‘Hullo.’

‘I have a rather odd request.’

‘Okay.’

There was a pause. Aziraphale was expecting a slightly different reaction.

‘Oh, quite. It sort of concerns Crowley.’ Another pause and then a shuffle from the angel.

‘Yes, well, there’s this Prophecy. From Agnes’s new book. I think Crowley might be in danger. And I think I can stop it, but I need your help. I know we haven’t started on the best of terms but I also know you like Crowley so I was rather hoping you’ll say yes.’

Adam had started this conversation wanting to be done with it as soon as possible. He had not yet reached the age when if you didn’t want to talk to someone you simply didn’t pick up the phone. _That seemed impolite_. Soon after, Crowley would teach him that that was exactly the point. So, even if his initial reaction had been, _Okay, alright, let’s just have it and be done with it, those candies aren’t going to crush themselves_, hearing something bad might happen to Crowley made him quickly rethink his priorities.

‘How can I help?’

‘Well, Agnes said something about old associates coming to gather their due. From what I’ve surmised, that could only mean one demon in particular and it won’t be very pretty. He’s really _really_ angry with Crowley.’ 

He remembered the cold, lingering stare Hastur had thrown him as he had been escorted out of Hell. Even during the trial, he had been the only one to bother to stand up for Ligur, the rest of them too bothered by the Apocalypse debacle to even care that one of their own had been murdered. Murder was quite common practice for demons. Even in their own ranks. _So why did Hastur insist on that particular aspect more than the others? Maybe they had been friends? Companions of sorts_. If it was him in that particular situation, and someone did anything to Crowley, he would have made sure they would receive the same punishment. _No, actually. He would have stormed Hell and rain Holy Water on the whole lot of them_.

Something happening to Crowley didn’t even bear thinking about. Hastur would definitely try to do something as well. Whether to hurt Crowley or to hurt the angel to get to Crowley, Aziraphale wasn’t quite certain yet, although he favoured the latter. _That’s what he would do_, and angels and demons were not so different, after all.

He realised this way of thinking was cold and cruel and downright evil. This was the way of thinking that made you Fall back in the good old days. _But he hadn’t Fallen yet, so what gives?_

‘Crowley - _in self-defence, mind you_,’ he added so as not to paint the demon in a particular bad light, especially not to his young protege and also son of Satan, ‘had to get rid of another demon. This one’s companion. I think he’s going to take revenge. I need to have leverage, dear boy, to persuade him to give it up. That’s the plan, at least. If it doesn’t work...well...I’ll have to resort to…different measures.’

‘You’re going to kill him,’ Adam stated, bluntly.

‘Killing is very wrong, Adam,’ Aziraphale huffed.

‘Yeah,’ Adam sighed as if Aziraphale was struggling very hard to convince him that the sky was blue. ‘So?’ _Of course killing was wrong. Wasn’t that the thing that made him stop the Apocalypse in the first place?_

‘I’m going to do it anyway,’ Aziraphale’s voice was soft and hushed, like in a confessional.

Adam didn’t quite grasp what the fuss was about. _If something happened to Crowley he would kill them himself_. Yes, killing was wrong, but maybe not when it involved your friends and them being in danger.

It seemed very important to Aziraphale that it wouldn’t get to that, so he hummed in approval.

‘How can I help, then?’


	46. But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't get that from the title, I'm going to point it out, plain and simple: here be love confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only took me 46 chapters to get to this, but hey, what gives?  
In which the bookshop's floor is figured yet again. It's gonna be a main protagonist in some of the later chapters as well.

**Saturday. Five years and ten days after the end of the world. 10 minutes after the encounter with Hastur.  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

The first thing Aziraphale wanted to do was drink himself into a stupor. He still had a dozen bottles of Chateuneuf-de-Pape. He wanted to drink all of them. And never think about tomorrow. Certainly never think about Crowley in any way that brought about his termination.

The last thing he wanted to do was open up his bookshop and and close it back up very quickly and stealthily (he didn’t want any potential customers getting any particular ideas about his shop being open, neither this century or the next) and find himself face to face with said demon.

Crowley’s face split up in a wide smile.

‘I let myself in,’ he said.

Aziraphale threw him a very pointed glare because, _of course he would break in at a time like this_.

Crowley hadn’t actually broken in. The door had just decided to let him through at that particular time, but Aziraphale couldn’t be bothered with technicalities.

He was still glowing faintly and had the urge to blink every second or so. Probably a side effect of all those myriad eyes. Crowley made a comment about it.

‘Did you go and put the fear of God into some poor sod, again? You know you don’t have to do that anymore. You’ll be blinking for days.’

‘This one was personal.’

‘Wanna talk about it?’

‘Maybe someday.’

‘_Oh_...right then.’

Aziraphale could feel the disappointment washing over him in waves. He didn’t even need to be an angel for that. It was plain for any eye to see. _Crowley thought he didn’t trust him yet again._

‘It’s not what you think.’

Crowley had put down his sunglasses at some point and was looking at him with such an open expression that Aziraphale feared he might say ‘_IT_’ then and there. Instead, he found it easier to just confess about the whole true form ordeal.

‘I may have brought Ligur back to life.’

‘You _what_?’

‘Well, Adam did.’

‘He _what_?’

‘At my behest, mind you. Don’t be harsh on the boy.’

‘Why in Heaven’s – _aaargh, that burns_ – sake would you ever do that? They’re going to kill us! Now that they’re back being all dynamic duo and the like they are going to find us and torture us until the end of days! Angel, we need to run away!’

This was the third time Crowley was proposing such a thing. _Did he really mean it?_ In the sense Aziraphale really wanted him to mean it, at least? _Maybe he did_, judging by the way he was desperately grabbing at Aziraphale’s hands.

‘They’re not going to kill us. Hastur wanted to. But now I gave him his friend back. Oh, and also, he’s terrified of me,’ he admitted, rather smugly.

‘How can anyone be terrified of you, angel?’ Crowley asked although, deep down, he was scared shitless. _Of the angel leaving. Of him saying no. Of him asking on that condescending tone of his just how exactly had Crowley ever thought they would get together._

‘You’re everything that’s good in this wretched world. You’re not scary. You’re nice and kind and pure and loving. Everything I’m not,’ he muttered as an afterthought.

Aziraphale shifted to his true form yet again. Not consciously. But having kept that private for more than 6000 years did something to it. And having been set free for the first time in 60 centuries made it crave for more. So it took shape. Wings unfurling and countless eyes watching, he revealed his proper form to Crowley for the first time.

The demon’s eyes were as large as saucers. It was when Crowley’s back met one of the bookshelves and he quite visibly gulped realising there was no getting away that Aziraphale actually came to terms with what was happening.

‘Oh, _fuck_!’

If Crowley saw him like this he would most definitely hate him, divinity leaking everywhere. It took all the resolve he had to at least try to keep his appearance three dimensional without invoking all the other planes of existence into his cramped bookshop.

Crowley approached him with uneasy steps and tentatively stroke one of his many wings. He looked with adoration in his eyes at the angel’s true form in front of him so Aziraphale’s mind wrapped around one thing and one thing only. He needed to gather the demon in his arms, or wings, or gusts of light or whatever it was his essence felt like doing at the moment since he wasn’t paying it any particular attention. And he needed to hold him. Whisper sweet nothings while he poured all of his love out.

He wrapped his hands around Crowley, not much differing from what he had done for the past five years whenever Crowley was having a particularly difficult moment. The demon was trembling in his arms and maybe it was because of all that divinity seeping anywhere.

He took back his hands only for Crowley to grasp them with a fierce grip and align them with his body yet again. He then, in a very snake-like fashion, somehow wrapped both his arms and legs around Aziraphale in a very close fitted vice.

Aziraphale thought that being this openly divine he would surely hurt Crowley. _He didn’t_. Five years had passed since they switched bodies. _But that was just his corporeal form_, his mind supplied. This was his very essence and it leaked all over the place. His ethereal form was running amok. It kept shifting between countless wings to rings of fire to columns of light to myriad eyes but all the while he kept Crowley close, or as close as he could while being all of those things all at once. He couldn’t hide anymore.

He always thought it was for Crowley’s sake. He only now realised it was for his own sake because he never wanted Crowley to fully see him in angel form for fear that he would bolt. He never wanted to say those three little words for the same reason. But as his being - _his whole being_ \- was out in the open like this, he found out he just couldn’t hold it back. 

‘Angel, what is this? What are you doing?’ Crowley said with adoration in his voice and just a tad of actual panic.

The waves of pure love washed over both of them and filled the whole shop. All of Soho. All of London even._ It would be figured in tomorrow’s news_, of that Aziraphale had no doubt but he could not be bothered to stop it. His general love for all things floated around, miles above them, while the love he bore for Crowley swirled around them, bright and luminous and _oh, it felt so good to finally be able to manifest it on the physical plane that it hurt!_ It was finally able to gather around its focal point, that was, at the moment, clasped by his million hands.

‘It’s love, Crowley.’ He said with the voice of thunder. Of galaxies forming and disappearing into dust.

Crowley croaked. He didn’t make any effort to move, though. Just sat there and let the waves of pure love wash over him.

At some point he started sobbing.

Aziraphale cursed himself, which stung a bit, especially in this particular form, and tried the best he could to get everything under wraps. 

It took a long while, the occasional eye or arm popping out however they saw fit.

Crowley was, by now, kneeling on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around Aziraphale’s legs and crying openly, his face buried in the fabric of Aziraphale’s trousers.

‘My dear, oh, darling I am so sorry. I just couldn’t reign it in properly. Did it hurt? _Did I hurt you_?’

‘Nhn…no.’

‘Are you certain? I thought the divine essence alone would discorporate you.’

Crowley muttered something, his voice muted by the fabric.

‘What was that, darling?’

‘S not that. It’s all the…you know.’

Aziraphale didn’t need him to further explain. Crowley did, anyway.

‘All the love. Haven’t felt anything like that for more than 6000 years. Back before the…you know.’

He wasn’t particularly eloquent. Aziraphale didn’t mind.

‘Is this how you feel the _whole_ time?’

‘Only when I think about you.’

‘Only when…I…you…_what_?’

‘Darling, _I love you_. I’ve always loved you, I think. Only admitted it to myself 1000 year ago, but I think I have from the very beginning. And no,’ he moved his hand to lift the demon’s chin up so their eyes could meet as he saw Crowley’s mouth fall open to object. His palm cupped Crowley's cheek and he stroked it affectionately, ‘not like I love everything else. I am _in love_ with you, Crowley. And you can get up and walk out that door and never return again and I will still be in love with you for all of eternity. The thing is, I don’t want you walking out that door. That kept me from saying it for so many years. Every time I even considered it I would always think that it would destroy our friendship completely. But I am _done_. Whatever happens, whatever you wish to do, I just had to say it. Blame it on the true form, blame it on years upon years of wanting so hard to be able to put it into words but never having the courage. Blame it on me being too soft of an angel to keep my feelings in check, but I just couldn’t lie anymore. You just _had_ to know.’

Crowley stared at him with full snake eyes, glazed over by tears and red at the rims. He looked so wretched. Aziraphale had never seen him look like this. _Never_. Not even during the Plague. Not even during the Inquisition. _This was very bad_.

‘Ugh.’

When the angel heard that he let go of the demon’s face immediately and tried to pull back a step or two.

‘Sorry, so sorry I presumed…Oh God, I’ve done it, haven’t I? I spoiled everything.’

The thing was, he could not retreat those extra steps as Crowley was still clinging on quite forcefully to his legs.

The demon got up partially, still on his knees, but now his face was at the level of Aziraphale’s waist. He briefly let go of his legs only to wrap his hands around the angel's back, face now buried in Aziraphale’s soft stomach.

‘I love you angel. Have loved you for as long as I care to remember. I never thought you’d share the feeling so I just…I don’t know. Hoped. Waited. I always wanted to tell you but I was too afraid. I’m a demon, I’m unworthy of your love.’

‘Don’t _ever_ say that again.’

‘You have no idea how long I’ve spent imagining this moment. How many times I would dream of this. Most times it would end with you leaving. Being disgusted by the mere thought of being loved by a demon. But there were times when I let myself hope and I always wanted to do it properly. To have all the right words.’

Aziraphale reached down and stroked Crowley’s hair. He breathed out in relief.

‘Angel…Aziraphale…I spent countless hours trying to come up with something that would befit you. That you would _deserve_ to hear. Do you remember the book of sonnets? I know them all by heart. "Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck; But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive" and all that nonsense. Yet here we are - you as bright and lovely as you were the day I first met you - and me a sobbing mess. _Acting like a bloody disgrace!_ Even _this_ I couldn’t do properly... God only knows why you say you love me. Went and did that before I could even drag my head up from my sorry arse to sit you down and confess to you properly.’

It took some time before he spoke again but the angel didn’t mind one bit. He was so happy he leaked at the edges, shining more brightly than the light of day.

‘I’m not good with words, Aziraphale. You were always the smart one. So I tried over and over to find some poor sod that was any good and just recite that. But no one seemed to word what it is that I felt for you. So I’m just going to do it on my own. _Badly_.’  


Crowley drew in a deep breath and placed his forehead on Aziraphale’s waist, looking down at the floor. He couldn’t look anywhere else.

‘You are all that is good and all that is beautiful in this world. You are my sun and my moon and all of the stars that I helped create. You are _everything_. My very own shard of light to guide me through all of this hopelessness. If there would be nothing else but you in the whole Universe, I would be content. The minute I thought I lost you when the bookshop burned down - that was the moment the world ended for me because _you_ are my world. I couldn’t give two shits about it ending for real because it didn’t have you in it. I would have gladly spent the next 6000 years just doing what you wanted. Dinners at the Ritz, walks in the park - you name it. I never wanted to go too fast in the first place.’

Aziraphale winced.

‘I never wanted to scare you away. Never wanted to presume anything. To force you to do anything. I just wanted _you_. However much of yourself you were willing to give, then that would always be enough.’

Aziraphale was fighting very hard not to shed a tear of his own.

‘That was _beautiful_, Crowley. More beautiful than whatever someone else would have written. Because it came from you. Dearest, please come up. It’s very disturbing to see you on your knees in defeat like that.’

‘_In prayer_. To you, angel, always in prayer,’ Crowley lifted his head and locked eyes with the angel and he had the most openly loving expression Aziraphale had ever seen.

That did it. Aziraphale burst into tears as he slid down to kneel in front of Crowley. He was still blinking incessantly but he didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around him, holding him as close as physically possible.

He had no idea for how long they sat like that, arms around each other, Crowley’s face resting in the crook of his neck. Hours it seemed. Not that it mattered. _Not anymore_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, there's only going to be Aziraphale&Crowley chapters for a while now with just a minor intermission.  
I'm so happy I got a break from work and was actually able to post this sooner than I hoped!


	47. Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did tell you this was going to be shamelessly tropey, didn't I?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bookshop's floor makes an appearance yet again. Recurring character and all that jazz.

**Sunday. Five years and eleven days after the end of the world. 11 am.  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

Crowley was having a hard time processing everything that had just happened. He had confessed his love for the angel and none of the scenarios he had so masterfully constructed in his head over the years came to pass. He hadn’t been discorporated. Aziraphale hadn’t left, he was still here, arms wrapped quite tightly around him. He hadn’t said no, or _you go too fast for me_. He had said he loved him as well and hadn’t Fallen – something that had kept Crowley awake on many a night. They were just kneeling on the floor of the bookshop, huddled against each other in a firm embrace.

He could feel Aziraphale’s scent, clearer than any time before. It was cardamon and vanilla and old books and morning dew and honeysuckle and it was _divine_. He let himself inhale that scent and lock it deep inside his heart for safe keeping. He carded his fingers in Aziraphale’s soft hair, the texture of cotton candy, or could it be cumulonimbus? _No matter_. It was the softest thing he had ever had the pleasure of touching. And he was allowed to touch. He was allowed to keep his angel close. _His angel_. He was allowed to call him that now.

He raised his head from the crook of Aziraphale’s neck to look into his eyes, as blue and bright as the sky itself. _Oh, God, he was perfect_. He didn’t care about uttering Her name in vain because it wasn’t in vain, he was looking at Her most perfect creation.

And Aziraphale looked back with love in his eyes and Crowley tried his best to quench down all of the things he wanted to do to him. They had confessed their love. _That should be enough_. The pit in his stomach informed him it wasn’t enough at all, but he tried to quiet that down while he pinned down Aziraphale’s adoring expression to memory.

He would never do anything to sully his angel, the picture of divine grace. _They loved each other and that was enough_. He could breathe a sigh of relief and spend the next 6000 years just holding Aziraphale’s hand. So he was - _surprised doesn’t even begin to describe it_ \- when Aziraphale shuffled over in his lap, gripped the lapels of his jacket in a very rough manner and kissed him.

_So they were doing this now_. Down on the floor of the bookshop with a lapful of angel, he was being kissed by the love of his life and his brain still had to catch up to that.

He had always expected – _hoped, rather_ \- because expectation necessitated a belief of that thing actually happening - that whenever, _if_ ever Aziraphale was to kiss him, it would be soft and pure and a bit more chaste than he wished for himself.  


_It wasn’t_. It was anything but that.

Aziraphale kissed him with a hunger and a passion akin to his very own. It was only because of the raw shock that his mouth had fallen open at some point during the whole thing. Aziraphale took advantage of that and was doing some very unangelic things to it before Crowley’s brain actually picked up and he started kissing him back.

Taste was even better than smell and now that he tasted Aziraphale he found it very hard to stop. _Ever_. He wanted to do just this for the remainder of eternity.

_How could the angel taste so sweet_ was beyond his power of comprehension.

He tasted like crisp mornings and bright sunrises, like colourful sunsets and woven tapestries of the starlit night sky. He tasted like home and faintly, _ever so faintly_, like apples. _Oh, the irony_, he thought as he couldn’t stop himself from biting Aziraphale’s lower lip.

Aziraphale saw it fit to moan into his mouth at this point and _oh God Almighty_ that did things to him that he very much wanted to keep under wraps. 

He pushed the angel off his lap and tried to keep his breathing under control.

Aziraphale was staring at him lovingly. _Blinking at him lovingly_, that is. He would continue to do that for the oncoming week at least. Crowley didn’t care. He stared lovingly in return.

‘I guess you could recite all of that poetry you’ve threatened me with now,’ Aziraphale smiled and attempted to be suave about it but the blush on his cheeks and the incessant blinking spoiled the general effect.

‘You cheeky bastard, you,’ Crowley smirked and kissed him again, making sure to keep a little distance between their bodies.

Aziraphale scuttled over towards him so Crowley ended the kiss yet again and gave him a loving peck on his cheek. He got to his feet and started patting the dust off his clothes. _Aziraphale really needed to vacuum the place at some point in time_.

As for Aziraphale himself, he was looking at Crowley with a dejected expression.

‘Come on, don’t sulk, angel. I was hoping we would celebrate all this love confessions business with a proper lunch.’

‘Oh, like a date?’

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up.

To be fair, Crowley only said that as a ploy to stop whatever it was that they were doing for fear of going too fast or too far. But the look on Aziraphale’s face made his heart melt.

‘Very much like a date, angel. God only knows how long I’ve been waiting to take you out on a proper date and call it that.’

Aziraphale got up from the floor and also started patting his clothes to get rid of the dust bunnies. Crowley snapped his fingers and the angel’s clothes were pristine yet again.

This earned him a loving smile. _Though, to be fair, all of the smiles Aziraphale directed towards Crowley were loving smiles_.

‘I should really try cleaning up at some point,’ Aziraphale commented while inspecting the state of the floor.

‘We both know you won’t.’

This earned him a pout, but a very short-lived one.

‘Where shall we go? The Ritz?’

‘Mhm, I was thinking more Savoy. Change of scenery and all that.’

‘A little change never did anyone any harm, I suppose.’

‘Took you long enough.’

‘Oh, you’re one to talk. Pot, kettle,’ Aziraphale pointed at both of them. ‘We would have been dancing around each other for the next 6000 years if I didn’t say anything.’

‘I’m glad you did, then. So _so_ glad. I feel that if I kept it to myself for only a moment longer I would possibly explode. I’m _so_ grateful, Aziraphale, it’s hard to put into words.’

The angel hugged him tightly as if to indicate the feeling was quite mutual.

‘Shall we?’ Crowley extended his hand and Aziraphale took it as if he was holding on to dear life.

‘Lead the way, love.’

Crowley fought very hard to keep his knees from giving in.

The ride in the Bentley was as abismal as ever, although Aziraphale supposed it was such a Crowley thing that he couldn’t actually hate it. 

The Bentley could feel something very momentous had happened. Even if it was just a car - it was a car owned by a demon, often transporting an angel, that had no use for proper carburant and for whom maximum speed was something that only happened to other cars entirely. So that had given it quite a bit of personality. The personality in question veered very heavily towards being a downright proper nuisance. She took after Crowley in that department.

So the Bentley decided this was as good of a time as any to blast 'Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy' from the speakers.

‘The cheek!’ Crowley exclaimed angrily as Aziraphale couldn’t suppress a chuckle. ‘I’ve had you from new and this is how you repay me?’

The Bentley replied by turning the volume up. Crowley cussed something about the car being spiteful, but, deep down, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

‘Maybe she just wants to help. I haven’t forgotten about all those poems, you know?’ Aziraphale pointed out, all sunshine and smiles, _the complete bastard_.

‘Well there you have it then. Think of it as a poem. It is about _you_, after all.’ Crowley couldn’t help the oncoming blush.

‘Oh dear, is it? Play it again!’

‘No.’

‘Bentley, please play it again.’

And so the Bentley did because she was feeling cheeky today.

‘Oh, this is quite racy.’

‘Freddie was being a cunt. You pour your soul in front of someone and they repay you by being cheeky fuckers. Will was the same, you know?’

‘Will was lovely. As, I would assume, was Freddie. As were Oscar and Hypatia and Homer and Adam and Warlock and all the people that were not as blind as I’ve been. Maybe if we actually listened to them for a start, we could have had all of this centuries ago.’

This was said as a hand sneaked into Crowley’s and brought it to Aziraphale’s lips peppering it with kisses.

Crowley thanked the powers that be that the Bentley more often than not drove herself. He found it very hard to concentrate on anything other than the feel of Aziraphale’s lips on his knuckles.


	48. In which Crowley is being rather thick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both of the boys are being thirsty bitches. Except Crowley is also being a bit dumb about it and has a hard time dealing with the wonders of 'proper communication'. Never fear, though - we're getting there eventually. But - as I would assume you all have realised by now - it takes me forever to anything in this fic, so bear with me please for just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! And all of the other seasonal greetings of course! There's never a better time for posting new content then after a day of lazying around and eating insane amounts of food and doing little else :D

**Saturday. Five years a month and ten days after the end of the world. 7 pm.  
**A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.****

****

****

The next month went by in a daze. They would either lounge on the couch in the backroom of the bookshop, by now the divide that had been the coffee table long forgotten as Crowley’s head would rest on Aziraphale’s thigh, or stay at Crowley’s place as the demon said he had to acquaint Aziraphale with his wide collection of movies but they just ended up snogging in the middle of said movies, any notion of following the plot long forgotten. Most of their nights would be spent at the bookshop in the angel’s bedroom with Crowley hugging Aziraphale tightly as he slept while Aziraphale busied himself with this book or that. Sometimes Crowley would go back to his apartment under the guise of yelling at the plants and he would end up spending the night there. Oftentimes a lot of cold showers were involved.

They would go out for dinner in all of their usual spots but they would hold hands now and brush cheeks and on one memorable occasion even kiss right in the middle of the fucking Ritz. Aziraphale had been the one responsible for that when Crowley had passed his own dessert over as he had gotten up and gave him a long and lingering kiss. The kind of kiss that definitely leads to something. Crowley very much feared what that something might be. Now that the whole loving each other business was out of the way, Crowley’s mind went back to one of its ever-present fears. That somehow, he would make Aziraphale Fall. Confessing their undying love for each other hadn’t sprung that on, nor had holding hands and kissing him senseless. But what he had in mind, had had ever since bloody Shakespeare’s time, was a bit more than that. _It would sully the angel’s very essence_. He very much wanted to avoid that even if at the same time he wanted it desperately.

The people at the Ritz had reacted slightly differently than how Crowley thought they would react, which was politely but firmly point out that this was a public place, _thank you very much_ and whatever they were doing they could be doing in the privacy of their own homes.

They did anything but that. The matre d’ came by and offered them a bottle of champagne on the house. All of the waiters were looking at them with shit-eating grins.

Aziraphale must have realised how improper this all was as he sat down again quite hurriedly. But he kept squeezing Crowley’s hand quite tightly and smiling brightly even through his blush.

*** 

At some point Aziraphale had went and found a Sinatra vinyl and played it on his old gramophone. Crowley was lounging on the couch when the angel came over and extended a hand.

‘Would you do me the honour?’ he asked as ‘Fly me too the moon’ started playing.

Crowley got up and took his hand. Dancing with Aziraphale had always been something that he very much wanted to do. _As were a couple of other things_. He didn’t comment on those. But he had to have a snarky remark on the ready, otherwise he wouldn’t be him.

‘Never thought you’d have anything newer than the eighteen-nineties.’

‘Well, it seemed fitting. I always thought of you when I heard it.’

Crowley nearly melted. But he had strong angelic hands that kept him steady on his feet. They swayed in place more than danced really.

Crowley commented on it.

‘It doesn’t matter. It was never about knowing the steps. It was about learning them on the way. Side by side. With you.’

Crowley tried to hide his very obvious blush and sudden incapability of forming words by burrowing his hands in Aziraphale’s curls and reverently kissing the side of his neck.

_Fill my heart with song_  
_Let me sing for ever more_  
_You are all I long for, all I worship and adore_  
_In other words, please be true_  
_In other words_  
_I love you_

Aziraphale took Crowley’s face in his hands and kissed him properly. They were veering towards the couch, Crowley took notice. And then they landed on it, Aziraphale first, with the demon in his lap. He started to card his hands through crimson locks and tipped Crowley’s head ever so slightly as he trailed long kisses on the column of his neck.

Crowley had a vague inkling of where this was going if he let it go any further and it showed. He was a proper mess, moaning and grunting wantonly and judging by the new sudden tightness in his pants he knew Aziraphale could feel it too, the way they were so close, not even an inch between them. He pushed at the angel’s chest and scurried over to the side.

Aziraphale was looking at him a bit hurt. 

‘Oh no no, angel, don’t look at me like that. That felt divine. And I’ll go back to kissing you as soon as I get it together. Want to do that for all of eternity.’

Aziraphale didn’t comment on the fact that he didn’t want Crowley to get it together, _thank you very much_. He would never force Crowley into something he didn’t want. Though judging by the state the demon was in he also wanted it. Very _very_ much. _So what was the problem?_

*** 

A couple of days later when Crowley woke up one morning, wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s middle as he sat in bed reading a book and had the gull to recite Chaucer at him, Aziraphale thought that this was it. _It was bound to be it._

‘_Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;_ _Their beauty shakes me who was once serene;_ _Straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen._ _Only your word will heal the injury_,’ Crowley intoned, chin pressed on Aziraphale’s stomach, eyes looking at him widely and filled with love. ‘You did say, about the poems. I’ll recite one each day, each waking hour, whenever you wish fo-’

Aziraphale hoisted him up as if he weighed nothing and then he flipped them over on the bed as he started stroking his sides, hands gliding under the Ramones T-shirt he was wearing instead of proper pyjamas. He could feel the angel’s hands going up. They were sending an electric current directly to his brain. He felt every hair rise on his body and every nerve short circuit. Aziraphale was trying to rid him of his T-shirt and he knew very well what would come after that. He stilled the angel's hands and wrapped his own around him, ducking his head in Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

‘This feels nice,’ he said, not lying, not for a bit. But completely veering away from the subject of what would feel even nicer, was he allowed to take it.

Aziraphale frowned for a bit, but _yes, it did feel nice_, the two of them wrapped around each other in this small bubble of domesticity. So, he hummed and hugged the demon back. He would let it drop for now.

*** 

A week after that Aziraphale was reading up something about the Crusades when an idle thought started bugging him.

‘You never said,’ he started as he stroked Crowley’s hair.

‘Mhm?’

‘When it was that you realised you love me.’

‘Alexandria. During that awful mess with Hypatia.’

‘God, I adored that woman.’

‘She was quite something, yes. It was when the bloody cretins started destroying things. You were trying to save some of the scrolls and you would have gotten yourself discorporated for sure. I miracled the scrolls safe and then I got you out of there. The ceiling collapsed on us. You were so heartbroken I instantly thought to myself, _I can never have you looking like that ever again_.’

‘I remember. You got your wing broken, poor thing. Wait, _what_? The scrolls?’

‘Yeah. Most of them ended up in various libraries scattered around Europe. I mean they meant so much to you and -’

He was quickly silenced by Aziraphale bending over and kissing him while he brightly glowed with sheer joy.

‘You’ve never said.’

‘M’a demon. Wasn’t supposed to do nice things. Especially not for angels.’

‘But you did anyway.’

‘Suppose I was a shit demon to begin with.’

‘Nonsense, darling. You’re the absolute best.’ He didn’t add a ‘demon’ after that. He didn’t need to.

‘When was it for you?’ Crowley asked, head perched on Aziraphale’s thigh while his hands slowly caressed one of his arms.

‘Worms. 1096.’

‘Wait, you were there? Could have bloody done something about it!’

‘I was late! It was already done. And then I sensed you and I saw you with all the children and I just…_oh Crowley_, I thought for certain God Herself would appear and smite me then and there for strongly I fell for you.’

‘I was just thwarting some Christian knobs.’

‘You were not. I never got it, back during the Flood. You said it was a 'big middle finger that' and I believed you. But this time…you put yourself in harm’s way, Crowley. And that was not a middle finger. That was you being especially considerate and caring and nice.’

‘Shut it, angel.’

‘You’ll have to make me,’ Aziraphale said but it wasn’t with a cheeky grin, it was with loving eyes and a caress to Crowley’s cheek. ‘You’ll have to try very hard to stop me from telling you how wonderful you are. The best person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. The kindest, most loving –‘

Crowley did indeed make him stop by capturing his mouth in a searing kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to be able to post the next chapter by the end of the year - a sort of wrap up so to speak. And yeah, it's gonna be smut :D


	49. Think of the neighbours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be smut. But it's of the Angel fucking variety. I completely suck at writing proper smut, I'm so very sorry about that.

**Friday. Five years a month and a half after the end of the world. 9 pm.  
**Mayfair. Interior.****

****

****

Aziraphale realised at some point or other that Crowley would never initiate anything intimate. Never mind the kisses and the hugs. He meant intimate _intimate_. For what reasons, he was altogether unsure, but he should be the one doing the instigation if he ever wanted this to happen this eternity or the next. So he would. He had wanted to ever since their first kiss. Ever since the church debacle in 1941. Ever since that time he saw Crowley pose for one of Caravaggio’s paintings almost bare. Ever since he first realised he was in love.

He rang the doorbell.

It took some time for the demon to wake up from his slumber and saunter towards the door. He was wearing a faded black T-shirt with one band’s name or other and boxer shorts.

‘Hello, love,’ Aziraphale said all sunshine and smiles. 

They made their way to the couch under the guise of watching a movie. At some point or other Aziraphale found himself in Crowley’s lap kissing him insatiably. Crowley had made an Effort for the last 500 years or so and that Effort was very obvious with the angel occupying his lap like that. He kissed him back reverently and then he moved away from under him.

Aziraphale frowned.

‘Why do you always do that? Do you find being with me so abhorrent?’

‘I never, angel. But what if you Fall?’ 

Aziraphale’s Fall had been an inevitable certainty for the angel for quite some time now, but he had tried to keep Crowley out of the loop about it. _Otherwise God only knows what the daft bugger would consider doing_. He very much wanted to keep things that way.

‘I won’t Fall,’ he said as he cupped Crowley’s cheek and stroked it lovingly with his thumb.

‘How do you know that?’

‘I just do. Crowley is this all that this is about?’

‘Of course it is! Falling is not at all pleasant. I don’t want you sullied by my demonic essence so that Upstairs starts getting ideas.’

‘I already told you, I won’t Fall.’

‘How are you so certain?’

‘I just am. My dear, is this all there is to it? Just fearing that I’ll Fall.’

‘I told you, angel. Not a 5 out of 5 stars experience.’

‘But do you _want_ this?’ Aziraphale asked gently as if to give him a way out of the whole thing were he inclined to take it.

‘Of course I bloody do! I’ve wanted this for centuries!’

Aziraphale seemed rather pleased by that.

‘My dear, do you trust me?’

‘To Hell and back again.’

‘Then trust me when I tell you this is something that I wanted to do for a thousand years.’

‘A thousand? _Wow_, looks like I’m the slow one here.’

‘When was it for you?’

‘Shakespeare’s time. It’s always bloody Shakespeare, innit?’

‘You said you loved me since Alexandria.’

‘I did. I just didn’t know I wanted to fuck you back then.’

‘Don’t be crass!’

‘_I’m_ being crass? You’re the one who was wiggling in my lap a second ago. You’re the one who implied you wanted to fuck me ever since you realised you fell in love. I mean, come on Aziraphale, there were children there!’

‘Well maybe not that particular night,’ Aziraphale sighed. Crowley was being deliberately dense. ‘But soon after. And also, I would never call it that.’

‘What would you call it then? _A walk in the park_?’

‘Making love. Sharing essences. Uniting our ethereal souls.’

‘I thought only you were ethereal. I was occult, remember?’

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

‘Also, that sounds downright filthy.’ Crowley wiggled his eyebrows at him.

‘Crowley?’

‘Yes, angel?’

‘Shut up.’

Crowley wanted to protest, even opened his mouth to do just that, but he was quickly silenced by Aziraphale kissing him with a passion he never thought the angel could posses.

He kissed him back, his hands in the angel’s hair. _Oh God it was so soft_. And then his hands went down his cheeks and neck, as Aziraphale had his own hands balled into fists in the cotton of Crowley’s T-shirt. Eventually his palms found their way to Aziraphale’s back, just over the shoulder blades where his wings would be if they were to manifest on this plane of existence. 

Crowley felt curious, although, for the life of him, he had no idea how he could feel anything else besides the lust and need that completely filled him to the brim, the angel sprawled all over him like that. But then again, Crowley’s curiosity was one of his most defining features. It had brought about several famous hits over the years such as - but not limited to - the very popular ‘Doing a million-year nose-dive in a pit of boiling sulphur’. So it never ceased to amaze him at which times it would chose to show up. _Such as now_.

He grabbed a fistful of Aziraphale’s shirt and completely untucked it from his belt and then he let one hand venture over bare skin all over his back before reaching his shoulder blade and giving a gentle caress. And sure enough, the next thing he knew, Aziraphale started moaning wantonly into his mouth and and _oh, for Somebody's sake_, he had to stop doing that or Crowley feared he would discorporate completely. But curiosity still edged him on, so he let his other hand venture on the same path and once both of them were resting in the right places he dug his nails in Aziraphale’s back. 

‘Oh, Good Lord!’ Aziraphale groaned as his wings manifested and the weight of them threw them both down on the seat of the couch, Crowley’s back laying down on it while Aziraphale was plastered over him, bodies touching from head to toes. Crowley wanted to cry. So many nights he had spent picturing this thing right here that by all rights shouldn’t happen, should have never happened and yet here they were. Here was his perfect Aziraphale laying on top of him and here were his blasted beautiful wings, spread wide around them both. He wanted to cry so badly it physically hurt. He grabbed the feathers at the base of the wings instead and pulled Aziraphale into another passionate kiss.

By now hands roamed freely over each other’s bodies and, if you were to ask him, Crowley would have no idea which one of them did any particular part of the undressing. It just happened. Just like that. And now he had a lapful of completely naked angel he had to take care of. And taking care of him he very much planned on doing. Too bad Aziraphale was planning on doing the same.

He didn’t know how long he spent admiring Crowley’s body with adoring eyes as he peppered every inch of his skin with kisses, from his ankle, to his shin, to his knee, to his stomach to each and every knuckle. And then he went back to kissing him proper.  


They had rolled over and Crowley was leaning over him now gently drawing lines and circles on his skin with the tip of his fingers. _Gentle, ever so gentle,_ Aziraphale mused.

__

Crowley stared, enraptured at the perfect porcelain skin of the angel that had started glowing without any prompting from said angel himself. He mapped constellations on it, like he had done in the skies an eternity ago, letting his fingers trail and linger on his chest and arms. He had no idea what would happen next, but if this would be it for the rest of his life, he would be content. Then Aziraphale went and grasped at his shoulder blades with the same force he himself had done earlier, urging black feathers to meet white ones.

They spent the following hours a mess of entangled arms and legs and wings and _oh the feeling of skin on skin was heavenly, no, much more wonderful than Heaven could ever dream of being_. And yes, indeed, this didn’t qualify as fucking, or even making love. He could feel Aziraphale’s essence all around him, encompassing him with wave upon wave of pure affection. He felt his own essence retreat, frightened that it was a tainted, ugly thing. Frightened that it would disgust the angel or scare him away.  


_It’s beautiful_, Aziraphale spoke into the ear of his mind. _Like the sunset. Like you. Please let me touch you._

And so he did. He could never refuse Aziraphale anything. 

So, bright whites and cerulean blues met flickering crimsons and deep purples and they fit together so perfectly he could swear this was the reason he was put upon this Earth. He felt, for the first time since Heaven, as if he was complete. As if that tiny piece of him that had been missing since the very beginning was gently put into place in his heart and he could breathe properly again. And breathe he did, inhaling all the scents that came with Aziraphale’s essence. It felt so good it almost burned, but, of course, such an open display of divinity would burn. It burned in the most delightful way.

He had no idea where his soul ended and Aziraphale’s began and he just couldn’t care. Was he the one that gripped into hips so hard he’d leave bruises or was he the one whose hands were deeply burrowed into wings, grabbing at feathers so tightly his knuckles were almost white? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Whatever happened on the Earthly plane was something else entirely but he couldn’t focus on that. Not while his very soul embraced Aziraphale’s.

On the earthly plane Aziraphale raked his fingers over his shoulders and gasped. Crowley wasn’t faring much better himself as he knew for certain his knees would give in at some point so he gripped Aziraphale by the waist and hauled him over so the angel was straddling him yet again.

‘Oh God!’ Aziraphale exclaimed, breathlessly. ‘Oh God, oh please, please, please, _oh God_!’

A couple of light years away God was pondering over the beauty of some nebulae when She heard one of Her Children call out. She let Her mind unfocus from the stargazing to see what this was all about. She rolled her eyes, pinched the bridge of Her nose and sighed. ‘Really, Aziraphale, there’s a time and a place…’

Crowley realised one of them must be doing something good as he felt his soul explode into a million pieces only to be recast anew, bearing a little bit of Aziraphale inside. He felt millennia go by, he felt atoms split, he felt his love surge and ebb and Aziraphale’s own respond in kind. He was no longer himself, nor was the angel. His eyes flew open but he couldn’t see anything but the blinding light that Aziraphale had become in his arms. A light that very quickly exploded into a column of raw power, like lightening, like the sun, like the heart of a dying star that shot up from an apartment in Mayfair and reached the end of the galaxy.

The electrical grid short circuited throughout all of Mayfair. A couple of alarms started ringing and in the distance they could hear the sounds of crashing cars. They would discover on the news the next day that was because of the GPS system going completely haywire with no plausible explanation.

The ceiling was shining brightly just above Aziraphale’s head. That was the first thing that Crowley’s mind picked up on when he returned to his senses.

He pointed this out loud.

‘Oh I do hope we didn’t inconvenience the neighbours,’ Aziraphale fretted while he cuddled up on his side, head on Crowley’s chest.

‘Neighbours, angel? _Really?_’

‘Well, I mean -’

‘I’ve wanted to do this since bloody forever and you’re talking about neighbours right now?’

‘Well, I only -’

‘I mean look at us!’ he pointed to the general state of the couch and also themselves. The general state would be aptly described as a complete and utter mess. ‘Neighbours, for _fuck’s_ sake,’ he continued muttering to himself.

‘Darling?’

‘Yeah? Do you want to talk about the weather next?’

‘Crowley - and I say this with all the love in the world - but _please_, shut up.’


	50. The Petition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pravuil chapter that no one asked for but you're all getting anyway. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry - we'll return to the bois in the next chapter and the one after that.

**Unspecified point of time because well, Heaven.  
Heaven.**

Pravuil groaned as another cheerful little bing instructed her she had work to do. She just wished she would be left alone playing Solitaire, or whatever the Heavenly version of Solitaire was. She really didn’t want to transcribe memos and she certainly didn’t want to deliver them to Gabriel. He was such a knob. Her boss, of course. But also, a knob. She glanced at the note halfheartedly, expecting it to be about one of those tedious men who saw Jesus in a bagel instances that happened every other Tuesday. She gasped when she saw what it was actually about. _Surely Gabriel could wait_. She made her way to the third-floor bathroom snapping her fingers as she went along to instruct some of the other Angels to come hither.

Once there she pinned the note on one of the walls and extended a hand. Various dollar, euro and pound notes were placed in it, depending upon where those particular Angels had been stationed.

‘How in the Heavens did they do it? Angel, demon, could possibly explode.’

‘They did, apparently. Cast a light that couldn’t be contained by the Milky Way.’

‘And you’re the one to go to Gabriel with this news?’

Some of them patted her shoulder with pity.

She very much enjoyed the idea of going to Gabriel with that particular set of news. She had never met Aziraphale - only saw him that one time in the Earth Observation Files. She hadn’t risked looking at them since that day, for fear of God actually trying to talk to her again. She didn’t care at all about the whole thing. _Well_, maybe she _did_ care a little about what happened to Aziraphale. _He seemed downright lovely_. But he had God on his side and it very obviously showed as none of the major Angels had signed that blasted petition till now. But she did care very much about when her boss was being played for a sucker. She wanted to see him boil and erupt. She wanted to see him yell his lungs out at the other Angels. If Angels would be permitted to have a stroke she very much believed he would have one. _Oh, this was so exciting._

‘Uhm, Archangel Gabriel,’ she tried as she entered his office. Usually it would be ‘So, Gabe, this just came in.’

Gabriel felt the shift and paid a lot of attention to the note. Then he smiled so widely she thought his expression would be plastered like this forever.

‘Thank you, Pravuil, that would be enough.’

_Oh, fuck you, Gabe!_

_One moment_. She only asked for _one_ moment of Gabriel losing his shit. And all he did instead was smile like Santa had arrived a day early.

Some time later she found the petition sitting innocently on her desk. It had rows upon rows of blank spaces, waiting to be filled with the names of all of Heaven’s Host. But she felt a little contrary. 

So she deliberately misplaced it. _What if it had four Archangels’ names on it?_ At least it would bear none of the signatures of the Powers, the Dominions or the Thrones.

Another one appeared on her desk not long after. _But this should be done properly_, she explained to Gabriel, all smiles, and then proceeded to turn it over to HR. Everyone knew their speed of response was somewhere between _oh, it will be dealt with this millennia_ and _we will definitely call you back at some point or other before the next End of Times comes_.

Gabriel seethed. Pravuil could at least be content with that. No major shitfit but a lot of small inconveniences that would bring about one, hopefully pretty soon. She found she was very good at her job when the right incentive was in place. And her incentive was to make Gabriel absolutely lose it.

The petition came back from HR much earlier than she anticipated, almost six months later. _That was new_. She thought Gabriel must have pulled some strings. _No matter_, she was the one in charge of keeping all the Heavenly Records even though the blasted Archangel treated her as a glorified secretary. No one else but her had the landline that reached the Seraphim and the Cherubim. She tweaked it a little so that it would always be occupied. No one would be suspicious about that as they often had the habit to disconnect the phone when they weren’t feeling particularly chatty.

At some point or other, Gabriel came, took the petition from her hands and said he was going to deal with it himself. _Good luck with that_, she mentally added as she saw him leave the office. She had quite a lot of sway around other Angels that saw her position for what it was and were always grateful if this thing or that didn’t get written into the Records. That gratefulness had its perks. Favours she hadn’t gathered for millennia were just there, ripe for the taking. So she placed a couple of phone calls in the right places.

Entire departments didn’t even think of talking to Gabriel, never mind signing his stupid petition. _Serves him right, the complete bastard_, she smiled to herself as she shared a cigarette with Raziel. 

‘What was this about in the first place?’ he asked passing the stub over.

‘Do you remember the Earth-bound Principality?’ she passed the stub back thinking about switching to menthols.

‘Aziraphale, was it? Oh, he’s the one who averted the Apocalypse.’

‘Uhm.’

‘Well, I have to say, I’m rather grateful. We’re always behind with the paperwork in my department. And, if we were to win the War, I think we would have been asked to pull quite a lot of all-nighters to get up to date.’

She very much enjoyed sloth in Angels. She dabbed in it herself, with the Mahjong and the Solitaire and the Minesweeper. _Oh, and the cat videos._

‘He exchanged essences with a demon. That’s what has Gabriel be all fussy like this. Thinks if he's not able to Fall him because of his involvement in the Apocalypse he can do it because of this.’

‘How could and Angel…_OH_!’

‘Yup.’ Pravuil responded drawing out the ‘p’.

‘Oh this is delightful. Very close to sin-worthy. And you know how I always enjoy gossip.’

‘Just tell him you’ll reach back and then never reply. It’s something you did very well over the centuries.’

‘There’s no need to point fingers!’

‘Oh, Raz, trust me, I’m not. I just want to see Gabe get burned.’

‘How could they though? Demon...Angel - could possibly explode?’

‘I’ve had the same conversation recently with some of the Angels from Accounting. Apparently, demons are from Angel stock as well. So there’s that.’

‘So if I want to keep all of those unfinished tasks off the record, I simply don’t sign Gabriel’s petition.’

‘Yup.’

‘But how do I do that without attracting attention?’

‘Raz, you’re the head of Thrones. You’re well above Gabe’s pay-grade, albeit him thinking of himself as the Lord and Master. God hasn’t visited us in millennia. Just pull the rank card on him.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wrote a God chapter that is completely adjacent to the story and its main characters, entirely on a whim! Spent the last couple of hours doing so even if I haven't finished writing the main story-line. I don't even think I'll post that since it has little to do with the main story ark but I am on such a high right now! Apparently I subconsciously really don't want this fic to ever end and keep up coming with new shit. Screaming at religion in general - especially through God's eyes - is very liberating, it seems. It is of little import to you all - I just wanted to yell about it into the void.


	51. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, so to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the bois are adorable sweets. Also couldn't help but cock-block Crowley because I am a despicable human being.

**Saturday. Five years a month and fifteen days after the end of the world. 10 am.  
Mayfair. Interior.**

They had fallen asleep which was not that uncommon when Crowley was concerned but was an altogether novelty for Aziraphale. Although he could describe what had happened last night as something of a novelty as well.

When he opened his eyes he was alone in the living room but he was covered in a cosy blanket and his head was resting on a very snug pillow. The blanket was the customary black infused with various shades of red, but it was tartan, Aziraphale noted with a wide smile on his face. None of them had been there last night, so he reckoned that Crowley must have made sure he was comfortable when he woke up. Which was strange. He knew the demon’s penchant for sleeping until the late hours of the afternoon. _So where was he?_

He could hear some vague sounds coming from two rooms over. The kitchen? _But Crowley rarely ate so what would he be doing there?_

He gathered the blanket around himself and made his way towards the noise. Said noise turned out to be a radio broadcast about something faulty happening to the GPS.

‘Good morning, angel,’ Crowley nearly purred as he entered the room, his back turned towards Aziraphale while he was busying himself with something on the kitchen’s counter top.

‘Good morning, my dear. What is it they’re talking about?’ he pointed to the radio as Crowley sauntered towards him and placed a kiss on his cheek.

‘Oh, it’s all about what happened last night,’ he grinned widely. ‘We somehow screwed with the GPS system. Oh, and we managed to fuck up the power grid in all of Mayfair.’

His smile nearly reached his ears.

‘Oh dear.’

‘If you start talking about neighbours I swear I’m gonna throw a fit.’

‘No, it’s just…do you think anyone noticed?’

‘_Noticed_, angel? We’re all over the _bloody_ news!’

Aziraphale wanted to admonish him for such an open disregard for the humans around but found he couldn’t be mad at him. Not while he was leaning over the kitchen island smug as anything. And especially not in that obscene silk robe.

‘Feeling ravenous, angel?’

Aziraphale realised he was openly staring.

‘Might have something to quench that appetite of yours.’

Aziraphale gulped and bit his lip.

‘I’m making crepes.’

‘Crepes?’

‘Yeah, I do believe they are long time favourites of yours, since you nearly got yourself discorporated for them that one time.’

Aziraphale wanted to tell him there was something else he’d rather enjoy tasting right now, but crepes _were_ crepes after all. So he sat down on a bar stool and examined Crowley as he worked.

He was working on the batter but stopped on various occasions to gather the coffee from the coffee press or to prepare a perfect hot chocolate for Azirapahle.

The cup was placed in front of the angel and was accompanied by a peck on his cheek.

Crowley seemed to hum to himself as he prepared breakfast. Aziraphale thought it adorable but didn’t want to spoil the mood by pointing this out. Instead his mind fixated on something that had permeated into all of their conversations ever since they confessed their love to each other.

‘You know, my dear, I’ve always bugged you about the poems.’

‘Mhm.’

‘But maybe I should be the one who does some of the reciting as well.’

‘Oh?’ Crowley said absentmindedly as he peered into the recipe book.

Aziraphale left his cocoa untouched and made his way towards the kitchen counter or, more plainly put, towards Crowley. He wrapped his hands around his waist and placed his chin on Crowley’s shoulder.

‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day,’ Aziraphale smiled lovingly.

‘Angel?’

‘Thou art more lovely and more temperate,’ Aziraphale continued, kissing Crowley’s neck.

Crowley had a knee jerk reaction and stumbled backwards only to be caught by Aziraphale’s arms.

‘Angel!’

‘Should I continue?’

‘No, you should not _bloody_ continue! Reciting Shakespeare to me in the nude. For _fuck’s_ sake!’

Aziraphale only now realised that the blanket would cover the essential bits if he kept it gathered around himself but in this particular scenario it was just hanging over his shoulders.

‘Oh, I didn’t realise. Sorry, darling, this is all very improper. And with you making me breakfast and all.’

‘Improper, angel? After what happened last night you think this is improper?’

The angel at least had the decency to blush.

‘You know out of all the denizens of Hell you somehow manage to be the best tempter I’ve every laid my eyes on,’ Crowley said as he turned, hands quickly encircling Aziraphale’s waist. ‘I almost have half a mind to give up on all of this completely and have my way with you.’

‘But the crepes, Crowley!’

‘Last night it was the neighbours, now it’s the bloody crepes! I swear to Someone, you’ll be the death of me some day. Can you comprehend how long I’ve waited for this?’

‘But we have time now. There’s all the time in the world. There’s never enough crepes though,’ Aziraphale added with a cheeky grin.

‘There’s never… oh, you sly _bastard_,’ Crowley couldn’t fight back a snort. ‘Amazing, wonderful, beautiful bastard,’ he continued as he peppered Aziraphale’s face with kisses. ‘You _are_ helping, though. I want this whole business done with as soon as possible.’

It took three times as long.

For all of his culinary expertise as a patron of 5 Michelin star restaurants, Aziraphale knew absolutely jack shit about cooking.

Half of the crepes he made ended up burnt to a crisp while the other half were under cooked.

Crowley was faring a little better in the crepe manufacturing department, that is to say - out of the various six tries he put together, one of them managed to look altogether edible. The rest were either stuck on the ceiling, sliding off the wall or cut into shreds as he tried peeling them with a spatula from the frying pan.

The one that made the cut however drew all the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ Aziraphale reserved for fine dining.

‘You were saying earlier.’

‘Mhm?’ Crowley hummed, chin in hand as he gazed lovingly at Aziraphale.

‘That you wanted to have your way with me.’

‘Oh, I do, angel. From now till the real End of Days.’

‘Well, I don’t see what’s stopping you.’

‘You devious bastard,’ Crowley laughed and approached the angel until there was no more distance between them and then guided the both of them towards the island in the middle of the room. Aziraphale found himself sitting on top of it as Crowley proceeded to do heavenly things to his neck. At some point the blanket fell off his shoulders completely, gathering somewhere around his waist.

It was at this particular point in time that they could faintly hear the jingle of keys but paid it no mind. What came next though would have been impossible to ignore.

‘I’ve got my license so now you can stop bullshitting me and finally let me drive that goddamned ca……_Oh my fucking God!_’

Both Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s gazes landed on a dumbfounded Warlock standing in the doorway, his feet glued to the ground.

‘Fuck, Adam needs to see this,’ he smiled like it was Christmas morning and snapped a photo of the two.

‘Now, my dear boy, I have to kindly ask you not to -’

‘S’too late, angel,’ Crowley sighed and miracled them both fully clothed. ‘He’s sent it already, the little shit.’

‘Did you? That fast?’

Warlock nodded with a shit-eating grin on his face.

‘Not everyone is as inept with technology as you, angel.’

‘I can’t believe you guys finally got together! I’m so fucking happy!’

‘Language, dear boy. I’m blaming you for this, Crowley. You’re an appalling influence.’

‘Didn’t find me so appalling last night,’ Crowley replied wiggling his eyebrows.

‘How can you be so crass, and in front of the boy, no less.’

He tugged at his waistcoat in a failed attempt to look prim and proper. Failed because only moments ago he just had a blanket pooled around him and Warlock would never wash that image away.

‘I’m sixteen, you know!’

‘That you are, my boy.’

‘Listen, do you want me to go, so you can…’

‘Fuck’s sake, kid! No, I don’t want you to leave. Moment’s ruined. Next time maybe ring the doorbell, though.’

‘Well, I thought that’s what the keys were for. But yeah, next time I’m calling in advance. I don’t want to witness the not safe for work version of this.’

‘Safe for…what?’

‘Shut up, angel. Do you want any failed crepes, War?’

‘Yeah, that sounds good. I want whipped cream. And sprinkles.’

Upon first impression no one would have pinned Warlock as being a fan of anything even remotely colourful if those colours weren’t black, dark grey or sometimes purple. But then again, on first inspection Crowley didn’t look like the type of guy to go for soft-looking bookshop owners, so there goes.

Crowley’s phone started buzzing.

‘It’s Adam. War, I swear to Someone you’re such a piece of work sometimes.’

Warlock giggled as he made his way to the kitchen counter top and stared salvaging whatever little bits were to be salvaged from the whole mess.

‘Hello, Hellspawn. Yeah, yeah, I know your little buddy here sent you embarrassing pictures of us -’

‘It took you guys literally forever!’

‘Yeah, well.’

‘I’m really happy for you. Would have been happier if you decided to wait until next year. Now I have to give that bastard War five quid.’

‘_Really?_’ Crowley turned towards Warlock. ‘You placed bets on this?’

‘Yeah. Adam was against it at first. Said, for his money, you’ll never get together if you kept going like that. I told him it has to be a particular year though.’

‘Adam, I’m gonna have to hang up. I have a kid to beat up.’

‘Oh, come on, you’re no fun.’

‘Fun? You thought it fun to place bets on when I would confess to the love of my life? Thing I’ve wanted for centuries but never had the courage to do. _Fun?_’

‘Oh, Crowley,’ Aziraphale blushed at being called the love of Crowley’s life.

‘Well you are, now shut up. Five quid? _Really?_ Would have thought a couple of thousand of years of pining would warrant at least ten.’

‘Anathema owes me ten. And mother 50 bucks.’

Anathema, for all her saying it wasn’t proper to just spring it on them was very much in on the bets. Maybe that one time she had been to Vegas and won heaps upon heaps of money still had her going.

‘Well, I’m glad to see that my plight at least makes you earn an honest buck.’

‘You’re being nasty,’ Warlock said as he stuffed his face full of crepes with miracled whipped cream and sprinkles on top, courtesy of one angel.

‘M’a demon. M’supposed to be nasty.’

Both Aziraphale and Warlock risked a look at one another. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Warlock smirked.

‘About that ride?’

‘Yeah, I suppose fair’s fair. Didn’t think you’d be enough of a shit to actually go to the US and spend a month there just to get your driver’s licence two years early.’

‘What? I’ve been dying to drive that car since I was like five.’

‘Okay, let’s get a move on. Angel, grab your things, you’re coming with.’

‘I’d never dream of anything else, darling,’ Aziraphale said as he clasped Crowley’s hand.

‘And if there’s so much as a scratch on her when we finish this short - and I do mean short drive - then there’s going to be Hell to pay!’

‘Whatever you say.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I can get this wrapped up in only 60 chapters anymore. I'm not yet updating the new number of chapters since I sort of got the creative juices flowing the last couple of days (finished 3 chapters yesterday alone) and I have no idea what my brain will come up with next.
> 
> This is actually one of the first ten chapters I wrote for this fic - because I'm a mess and can't write chronologically for shit. Have been sitting on it for a long long time now. Hope you enjoyed reading it as I much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Comments are very appreciated - they're my bread and butter by now!


	52. What do you want to do now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're switches, bitches!  
I told you all that I can't write smut for shit. So here's my attempt at writing the inbetweens.  
Also this is basically the equivalent of the bird meme that screams: "and then they all fucked".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both '41 and '67 get mentioned since this thing is tropey as fuck.  
You had your warnings from the very beginning so I'm not feeling even remotely guilty about this.  
Also a lot of sex is implied even if it's not graphically depicted so if you're not on board with that tune in for the next chapters, good folks.

**Saturday. Five years a month and fifteen days after the end of the world. 1 pm.  
Dowling Estate. Exterior.**

After they drove around for around an hour, Warlock was very politely but firmly deposited back at the manor in Mrs. Dowling’s loving arms as Crowley informed her pointedly that he would be extremely busy for the oncoming week, were Warlock so inclined as to pester him. 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at that but Crowley just grabbed his hand and kissed it as they made their way to the car. He could have sworn he saw Warlock place a hand on his hip while his other was extended towards his mother expectantly in his rear-view mirror, but he didn’t pay it much mind.

_He had places to be, after all_. Those places were his apartment, where, as soon as he stepped in and made sure the door was sufficiently locked that no key would ever open it, he turned around to Aziraphale and pinned him to the wall.

‘What do you want to do now?’ Aziraphale asked quite breathlessly as Crowley started unwrapping his bow tie.

‘You,’ was drawled in his ear. ‘I want to do you.’

‘Oh, darling, I -’

‘I wanted this since the night after Armagedidn’t. It played around in my head over and over on the bus ride here. Well, I wanted this for a long time before that but that night in particular it was very hard for me to abstain.’

‘I have to admit I had similar thoughts on the matter,’ Aziraphaled confessed all primly while he started undoing Crowley’s belt buckle.

‘Good. I don’t want to leave the bedroom for a week, at least.’

‘Who knew you would be so insatiable. And after a whole month of me having to bear with you pulling back.’

‘What can I say, you were quite the tease.’

‘_I_ was the tease? I wanted this with you since our first kiss. Almost for a thousand years before that, even. You were the one who was being a tease, always pulling back like that,’ Aziraphale whispered as he pulled off Crowley’s shirt over his head.

‘Well, consider me up to speed, angel. And I don’t want to slow down at all for the foreseeable future.’

As this was said, Crowley was already down on his knees working his way through all of Aziraphale’s numerous layers of clothing.

Aziraphale gulped as teeth sank in his very nakedly displayed thigh.

***

‘So you never…’

‘Never, angel. It had to be you. Had always been you ever since I first saw you on that bloody wall. Sure, it took me a while to realise it. I’m a thick-headed demon, after all.’

‘For me as well. You. There was never any doubt in my mind. It would always be you. I nearly gave in back in ’41.’

‘Except you didn’t,’ Crowley said in a broken voice as he kept tracing circles on Aziraphale’s chest.

‘I didn’t. It’s one of the things I regret the most. I just realised my feelings were reciprocated and I didn’t do anything about it. You must know, my darling, how very sorry I am about that.’

‘You said you regret that the most. Is it up there with _‘You go too fast for me’_?’

‘That’s low.’

Crowley lifted his head and threw Aziraphale a desperate look. His eyes were glistening.

‘I’m sorry, angel. I shouldn’t have brought it up.’

‘No! You most definitely should have! I hurt you. I knew how much it hurt the moment those words were out of my mouth. But I was scared. I was so scared of what Hell would do to you if they got wind of it. And the End of Days hadn’t been announced yet. It seemed like such a long way off. Surely we’d have time. And it wasn’t. A long way off, that is. And I’ve always regretted saying those words to you. But I’m here now and we have time and I love you, oh, darling, I love you so much!’

Crowley captured his mouth with a kiss while his hands were roaming quite freely everywhere on his body. Aziraphale started moaning. _Good._

***

‘What do you want to try next?’

‘Whatever. Wherever you go, I will follow. At whatever speed. At whatever pace. I’ll always follow your lead.’

Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek and realised he had to make up for a lot of lost time. And he did really enjoy his culinary escapades more than most people did, so he crept on down the demon’s body and enjoyed.

‘For fuck’s sake Aziraphale, you’re going to be the death of me,’ Crowley remarked as he got his bearings back from his previous high.

‘I would dream nothing of the sort. But I do rather enjoy seeing you like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘A complete mess. Begging. Crying out. Reciting my name like that.’

‘In prayer, angel. I told you. Always in prayer.’

‘Hmm, let’s see if you can pray some more.’

‘Angel, I swear I will discorporate if you keep at it like this.’

‘You did say a week.’

‘I did. I never knew you would get that ravenous mouth of yours in the mix.’

‘You should have guessed.’

Aziraphale threw him the most knowing grin he could possibly display and then went down on him yet again. _Oh, for fuck’s sake, this was absolutely to die for._

***

Three days later, Crowley woke up and started carding his hands through the sheets. Aziraphale wasn’t there. A brief panic gripped him before he started searching for the angel with his demonic powers and _Oh, he was just in the kitchen_. Three rooms away.

‘Come back to bed!’ Crowley yelled through the doorway.

‘I wanted to make tea,’ Aziraphale huffed from the kitchen doorway.

‘Fuck tea. Come back to bed.’

‘You’re being obstinate.’

‘I am. Come back here. I can show you how all of that worshipping goes.’

‘Oh!’

‘Oh, indeed. Move your plump and delightful arse back here!’

‘Do you want some breakfast when I come back?’

‘No, I don’t want any bloody breakfast, Aziraphale, all I ever want to taste is you.’

‘_OH_!’

‘Exactly. Come back this instant.’

‘I do believe I will.’

‘_Good_.’

***

‘You do have to let go at some point.’ 

‘Why?’

_Why indeed?_

They had no other responsibilities to attend to. Aziraphale had had the very bright idea of putting a ‘restoration works’ sign on the door of the bookshop the month prior. If he would have it his way, there wouldn’t be much of selling (or trying desperately not to sell) books for the oncoming week at least. _Apparently he had it his way._

He was resting his head on Crowley’s chest, his ear pressed just over the demon’s heart. It made his own heart beat so tight in his chest he feared it might explode. 

_Feeling this close, this intimate_…it almost felt like a dream.

Crowley was stroking his hair and showering his forehead with lazy kisses.

He supposed he could sit like this for all of eternity and be content. _Well, the occasional dinner would be an absolute must_, of course. But other than that… he had never felt this happy in his life. It wasn’t even about the love making. Of course, that had been absolutely divine that first time when their actual souls had merged and coming very near to that all of the other times that frankly Aziraphale had lost count of.

It was that they could be this close. Finally. Just them. _Forever_. In love and left alone and he could hold Crowley in his arms for the rest of days. _Would_, every chance he would get. He was feeling in a very love-poem-reciting mood.

The demon was having different thoughts on the matter though.

***

Crowley realised he had found out a lot of things about both of them in the last week, now that this new Arrangement had started.

Firstly, that he was very _very_ vocal. And prone to saying _‘please’_ a lot.

Secondly, that Aziraphale was also very vocal but in a different way entirely. In the way that made Crowley go completely weak in the knees. Calling him beautiful and stunning and amazing all the time. It made Crowley find new ways of matching consonants.

Thirdly - and this was very important - he found that Aziraphale quite liked his neck being kissed. He did that a lot, following that new found information. Even bit down at some point, not being able to help himself. The angel had loved that. He took notice of it and stored it in the back of his mind to keep all of the other thoughts about what Aziraphale liked company. That’s why the angel’s throat and inner thighs were a mass of purple bite-marks.

He had also noted that the angel always tried to be gentle but Aziraphale would sometimes forget himself and dig his hands so deep in Crowley’s hips, or thighs, or waist, that it would leave him marred with deep bruises. He often tended to forget how strong Aziraphale could really be. _Not in the last week, though_. Aziraphale would always feel rather guilty afterwards - had even tried healing the angry bruises the first time it happened and had been rewarded with a hiss. It was not a nice hiss. Crowley adored the bruises. It meant he belonged to the angel. He loved the bite-marks too. It meant the angel belonged to him.

He was admiring such a bruise that stood as evidence of the last time they went at it with a sly smile that he secretly hoped Aziraphale wouldn’t notice. Aziraphale, of course, did.

‘All your little smiles that you try and hide from me are a delight. I love that about you.’

‘Hmm, and here I thought you loved me for my sharp wit and charming personality.’

‘Those too. And your kindness. Your bravery. The way you’re always there when I need you the most. Those hips of yours that make the way you walk look positively sinful.’

‘M’a demon, it’s supposed to be sinful,’ he tried to fixate on that as a blush crept over his face at the praise.

‘You know what I mean. You’ve been trying to tempt me for ages.’

‘Succeeded in the end, didn’t I?’

Aziraphale gave him a warm smile and tutted slightly. Then he took one of the demon’s hands and started kissing each of his fingers.

‘Your hands. They’re so elegant and delicate and do the most wondrous things. Your hair. It’s as soft as silk. But especially your eyes, Crowley. I simply adore your eyes. They look like molten gold.’

‘Mhng,’ Crowley intelligently intoned as he ducked his head into Aziraphale’s shoulder. ‘Stop it, angel. It’s embarrassing.’

‘How can listing things I love about you be embarrassing? I love you, Crowley. All of you. Fully. Completely.’

‘Then at least let me return the favour. Let me count the ways, as it were.’

If Aziraphale wanted to embarrass him, he had some retaliation to be doing as well. _But not before listing all of the important bits first_.

‘I love your eyes as well. They’re as blue and as bright as anything. Cerulean. I love your smile. It tells me everything is right in the world each time I get to see it. I love how we fit together in this as well as everything else. Yin to my yang. Your wit. Your intelligence. Your passion for old books. The fact that you actually find tartan stylish. I love the happy sounds you make whenever we eat out. I especially loved the sounds you made right here on this very bed. _Oh_ and I absolutely love your c-’

Aziraphale pulled him over and kissed him silly. So much for embarrassing the angel when he was the one who ended up a blundering mess.

They did stop, of course, ten days and two hours later, as Aziraphale declared he got a bit peckish.

A bit peckish in this instance meant a five course meal at the Ritz. Crowley even joined in on desert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for calling you 'bitches' at the beginning. You are all lovely people who don't deserve that.  
Oh and if you want to know it for a fact: they fucked for two whole weeks. 6000 years of waiting does that to you.
> 
> I also started a second fic so yay me, I guess! It's Ineffable Bureaucracy and Gabriel isn't being so much of a shit in that one, if you want to check it out.


	53. Adam and Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is very short and very sweet and very self-indulgent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking such a long time to get on with the main plot

**Saturday. Five years four months and ten days after the end of the world. 7pm.  
Jasmine Cottage. Interior. **

The last couple of months had been devoid of any visits to Tadfield. They had both been _otherwise occupied_ would be the elegant way to put it. Shagging like crazy would be the more apt description.

But now it was Christmas and – as always – well, always for the last five years – they spent their Christmas at Jasmine Cottage.

All the kids were there, except they weren’t kids any longer. _They were teens and a downright proper nuisance._

Anathema got up to greet them as soon as they entered the door but it took her longer than it usually did and she also seemed more altogether round – although Aziraphale would be the last person to comment on that.

Crowley did.

‘Congratulations. So what’s it gonna be?’

‘A girl,’ Anathema replied very sure of herself although no screenings had been done to discern what the baby would be. Thing is, if you believe in something hard enough, that certain something tends to happen, more often than not. Especially when you’re a witch. _Well, occultist._

‘Oh, my dear! That’s amazing news! Why didn’t you call earlier and told me?’

‘I thought you two would be busy,’ she said as she raised her eyebrows while looking very pointedly at Aziraphale’s neck. For all his tall collar and bow-tie, his neck was covered in hickeys. ‘Didn’t want to impose.’

The angel blushed a deep scarlet but couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty.

‘What are you going to name the precious thing?’ he asked instead.

‘Here’s the thing I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘Yes dear?’

‘You know how you consider yourselves Adam and War’s honorary godfathers?’

‘Yes dear?’

‘Angel,’ Crowley warned, already seeing where this was all going.

‘Well, I was wondering if you’d actually want to be godfathers for good this time around.’

Aziraphale stood flabbergasted. Crowley rolled his eyes. _Sure, why not?_ What was one more child in their lives now that they entertained a whole menagerie of them.

‘We would be honoured! Sorry, I spoke out of turn. I would certainly be honoured. Crowley?’

‘Yeah, I suppose. Don’t see why not. What are you naming her anyway?’

‘I was actually thinking Eve,’ Anathema smiled knowingly.

And then Crowley threw his head back and laughed and laughed.

It took a while for him to recover from his laughing fit and he was slightly wheezing by this point. 

Aziraphale looked at him judgmentally. 

‘Well, that’s a lovely name, dear.’

Crowley laughed some more.

By this point Warlock joined them to see what the whole fuss was about.

Crowley placed a hand on his shoulder as he tried to regain his bearings while Warlock shot him an inquisitive look.

‘They’re having a kid,’ Crowley said by means of explaining. ‘They want us to be the godfathers,’ he let out another peal of laughter. ‘And they’re calling her Eve.’ 

At this Warlock’s face split open in a wide grin.

‘I know. I suggested the Eve business to begin with. Seems fitting, doesn’t it?’

Crowley stared at him for a long time before gathering him up in his arms and laughing some more.

‘I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you, you downright menace! I love you so much!’

All the hubbub in the cottage instantly faded.

Crowley looked from Aziraphale to the others with his mouth hanging open. He looked altogether terrified.

‘What I meant was -’

‘Oh, shut up,’ Warlock said, still in the demon’s tight embrace, ‘this is as embarrassing for me as it is for you.’

Adam soon approached them since he was the most loving kid out of the bunch and threw his hands around them both.

‘What are you doing?’ Crowley hissed at him.

Then Pepper came up shortly after and did the same.

‘Wha-’ Crowley started to say but was silenced because of five kids were all hugging each other around him. _They weren’t hugging him. He was a demon. Demons didn’t hug._

He risked a glance at Aziraphale who was looking at him like he was something out of Shakespeare’s writings. He had only seen that look two times in the past and didn’t know what it meant. He hoped it was good. He also hoped the kids would stop hugging him. _Each other_. They were hugging each other.

And then Aziraphale threw himself into the pile and now Crowley was certain they were all hugging him. _How downright preposterous._

Anathema rolled her eyes and crossed her hands over the large big bulge that her belly had become and said:

‘I really should be joining in on that but I think either I’ll squish you all or Crowley would kill me for telling him that’s a hug plain and simple.’

Crowley wanted to discorporate her that very minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have some plot in the next chapter.
> 
> Also, I will shamelessly advertise my other fic here because I'm such a slut for comments: [Something to remember me by](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22220305/chapters/53055079)


	54. No, can't do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a Beelzie chapter since I love them and they absolutely rock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beelz is and will always be a sweetheart in everything I write.

**Unspecified point of time because well, Hell.  
Hell.**

Gabriel had called them more than twenty times in the last couple of days. Beelzebub made sure to keep him waiting long enough that is looked deliberate. _It was deliberate, after all._

‘What izzz it?’ they snapped at him the moment they landed on Earth, right in the middle of St James’s Park. 

All of the shady dealings between secret agents from this country or that would take place here, so why not the ones of the main primordial enemies – Heaven and Hell.

‘Bee! Such a pleasure to see you.’

Beelzebub grabbed him by that pristine looking scarf he always wore and snarled in his ear. ‘I told you I’d break your legs if you ever called me that again!’

‘No need to be contrary. I have very good news.’

Their definition of what good news actually were was very _very_ different.

‘I got clearance to Fall the angel Aziraphale, so you should be happy to add another one to your ranks.’

Beelzebub fought back a little shiver. They never considered having an angel in their mix, especially one as single-minded as Aziraphale. They had heard Hastur’s tale on several occasions. Had actually made Hastur recount it more than a dozen times so that they could properly prepare.

Hell always welcomed new recruits. _But maybe not this particular one_. 

The thing was, when you were a ruling Prince of Hell, you had a lot of tools set at your disposal to get confessions from whoever you wished. And after Ligur turned up safe and sound, more than five years after his very obvious death, they had used all of the tools necessary to extract the truth from Hastur. And were really bothered by it. _Angels were complete and utter shits_ \- Aziraphale being very much an angel and very much a shit. _And now friends with the Antichrist, it seemed._

Lucifer had finished his five-year-old sulk and was very interested in the well-being of his child on Earth. _Why was he being interested_, Beelzebub had no idea. Especially since Adam didn’t do his job and bring by Armageddon. Nor did they care to know. _He was the boss, he had his reasons_. And if you wanted to keep your station, you should know better than ask questions in Hell.

‘The thing is, if you’re getting one of our own, we should be getting one of yours. I want the demon Crowley. I plan on making an example out of him.’

Beelzebub thought back to the trials of the two traitors. If neither of them were particularly affected by Holy Water or Hellfire respectively during that time, they very much doubted they would be affected now, when their roles were reversed. They still very much feared what an avenging angel would do. Had witnessed it firsthand a long time ago and was in no mood for an encore.

‘Crowley is not yourzzz for the taking. He belongzzz to uzzz.’

‘Oh, come on, an exchange is the proper thing to do.’

‘I reprezzzent Hell. We don’t do proper.’

‘I really want to get my hands on him.’

‘Too bad. He’s off limitzzz.’

‘I did provide a fair exchange.’

‘I don’t want your fallen angel. And you know what, wank-wingzzz, fuck you!’

And with a snap of their fingers they were back in their office once more. They sighed a sigh of relief as Dagon’s head popped in the door frame.

‘Rough meeting?’

‘When izn’t it with that horrible excuzzze for an angel?’

‘What was it this time? Still hoping for some “good fun”?’ Dagon growled, mouth open and full of hundreds of teeth.

‘Not this time, no. He wants Crowley.’

Dagon’s expression of sheer possessiveness shifted to a rather frightened one.

‘No…’

‘Yezzz,’ Beelzebub buzzed against their better judgement. ‘Fuck! I hate it when I do that. Gabriel’z got me all riled up!’

‘What are you going to do, Bee?’

Beelzebub looked at Dagon for a long while and there was even a hint of a smile there. _This was just theirs so how dare that knob ever call them that?_ It was soon replaced by a frown and a lot more flies gathered around them.

‘I told him no. But I don’t think he’ll listen. He also tells me he’ll make the angel Fall.’

‘No!’

‘Yezzzz. Aaaaaaaargh! I really fucking hate thizzz!’

‘What can I do to help? If anything you said is true – and of course it is,’ she added when she saw Beelzebub’s expression, ‘we don’t want that angel to join our ranks. Not in a million years.’

‘Call Hazztur. He hazzz to make some ammendzz.’

Dagon nodded and was gone.

Beelzebub swore at themself. Then some more at Gabriel. Then at the world at large. And then they had quite a long tirade at God Herself. _Ineffable their arse_.

Hastur came in their office not long after, a lot more complacent than last time. _Good_. It was nice to see that the torture chambers were still holding up nicely.

‘You wanted to see me, my Prince?’

‘Ah, good to see you’ve learnt some proper manerzzz. Mngh.’

‘Yes, Lord.’

‘I have an azzzingment for you. Zzzo that you reenter Hell’s good gracezz. Well, bad gracez. I want you to pay a visit upstairzzz.’

Hastur shuddered.

‘Not _Upstairzzz_ upstairz! What do you take me for? We don’t threaten with zomething like that, not even here!’

He was visibly less perturbed. He almost looked at ease.

‘Juzt on Earth. I have an errand for you.’

‘Yes, Lord! Anything to please you!’

‘Good. I want you to contact the angel Azzziraphale. There’s zomething I want to warn him about.’

He suddenly didn’t seem so at ease after all. He even gulped. _Good_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there's ten more chapters or so but I'll update the chapter count when I have a definitive number.
> 
> So, I just saw the first on-set pictures with the Discworld's Watch series. I want to rant about it but since this is no longer on the first page and people won't have such an easy access to it I'm going to hold on to my rant for the next chapter. Because I want my rant to be seen by as many people as possible. Long story short, I hate it. (Tune in for the next chapter for the long story - and the rant) And for the people who are not Discworld fans - I am really very sorry, so just skip the notes altogether, but I really need to get this out there and clear it out of my system.


	55. When the Deville comes hither with a warninge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit's going down in a couple of chapters. I love Aziraphale interacting with demons and being his old polite self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Queue rant in the notes at the end.

**Sunday. Five years and five months after the end of the world. 5pm.  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Exterior.**

**_When the Deville comes hither with a warninge, I tell ye this and charge thee with my words, They will decide upon a Falle from the Heavens once more._**

Aziraphale had visited an old-book fair while Crowley had gone to stir some trouble down the DLR line that caused a countless amount of people to be late for work. Aziraphale had no idea why he kept doing that since he had no affiliations with Hell anymore.

He probably was still a bit of a demon at heart. And speaking of demons, he felt the presence of one in the alley just behind the bookshop. And a familiar one it was. He supposed the demon had to use the back alley, seeing as if he was caught on Aziraphale’s doorstep, Crowley would discorporate him for sure.

He adjusted his coat and stepped in the mouth of the alley.

‘Ah, Lord Hastur, what can I help you with?’ he asked with his most charming smile.

But Hastur knew better, their last encounter bringing back painful memories. So he stayed well away from the angel and avoided any sewage drains that a certain someone could miracle into Holy Water.

‘Hello, angel Aziraphale,’ he said in a threatening matter. Or as threatening as one who has been dangled over the previously mentioned Holy Water could muster towards the person doing the dangling.

‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ Aziraphale asked again, all smiles. _Damn the evil bugger._

‘Displeasure,’ Hastur muttered in reply.

‘Whatever helps you sleep at night.’

‘Demons don’t slee…..oh you’re just as bad, the both of you. We’re getting side-tracked here,’ he groaned in frustration remembering the penchant Crowley had for stirring the conversation away from it’s main purpose. Hastur was a demon of few words and didn’t much like to waste those words on trivial things. ‘We made a deal, you and I and I am here honouring that deal.’

Demons had no honour. Not even a little under the fingernail of their pinky finger. But Deals were something they respected. Deals were something that helped ensure quite a large amount of souls over the centuries so, therefore, were as close to sacred as something could be for a demon. _Or as opposite_, you choose.

‘Has something happened?’ the angel asked with a panicked look on his face. _Good_, Hastur liked that face on him. _He should be properly terrified after the move that he had pulled on him_. But he had brought Ligur back. Not that Ligur should have been gone in the first place if it hadn’t been for Crowley, but that was beside the point.

‘There’s some concerning talk Upstairs.’

‘Upstairs? Since when do you people concern yourselves with that?’

Hastur let the ‘you people’ slide.

‘Gabriel talked to Lord Beelzebub. Something about the two of you switching places.’

Aziraphale’s heart was in his throat. He tried to keep a straight face.

‘He said they planned to make you Fall. Have wanted for some time but only got clearance after the…you know.’

Aziraphale did know and he had no intention of discussing that particular something with a demon, or anyone else, for the matter.

‘Clearance. From the Almighty?’

‘Has the Almighty ever spoken to any of you lot in the last thousand years?’

Aziraphale wanted to point out that _yes, the Almighty had actually spoken to him_, but quickly realised that had been 6000 years ago, outside the garden of Eden.

‘No,’ he said dejectedly.

‘From what I’ve gathered they just raised the proper amount of signatures.’

‘Signatures? This isn’t some online petition, you know,’ he fussed as if the demon before him could be bothered with how they did things in Heaven, or care, for that matter, what happened to Aziraphale.

‘What’s an online?’

If the situation had not been so dire, Aziraphale would have laughed out loud that he, of all people - well, all supernatural entities - had more knowledge of things happening this century than his interlocutor.

‘No matter, you were saying?’

A discussion between an angel who barely grasped the concept and a demon who, for all he knew, had no idea of what a computer was, would be very long and very ill-advised at the moment.

‘Gabriel said that when they made you Fall, seeing as then you would belong to Hell, it would be only proper to send Crowley back for them to do with him as they saw fit.’

Aziraphale’s eyes lit with divine fury. This wasn’t even about his safety or his Fall. He had expected that for the last thousand years. Ever since he admitted to himself that he was in love with a demon. But for them to go against Crowley, well then, that was a different thing altogether. 

‘Stop doing that!’ Hastur wailed as he covered his eyes.

Aziraphale was glowing. And it wasn’t a particularly nice, heavenly glow. He was in full soldier mode.

‘Sorry, so sorry, got a bit carried away. What did Lord Beelzebub say to that?’ He had an inkling. They would jump at the occasion the second they heard that proposition.

‘What do you think they said? _No_, of course. No one wants a repeat of that Holy Water bath incident. They told Gabriel to shove it and be done with it. I just came to tell you about the whole Fall business. As per our Deal.’

The thing was, Hastur didn’t much care if an angel Fell. He would actually be very glad. As would all the other demons be. The other thing was, Hastur had no intention of being coworkers with this particular angel, not after their last encounter. If he could do anything to stop being in close proximity to him for the rest of eternity then he would do it. This was his attempt of doing exactly that. Not to mention that Beelzebub had him in quite a tight spot.

‘So I’ll Fall. Doesn’t matter, as long as Crowley is safe.’

Hastur had a hard time registering the new information. Hell would surely have a field day with the newly Fallen angel – or would they? He remembered the report from Up above. He had survived Hellfire. And he remembered their last encounter. He had also survived Holy Water. So no, Hastur had no intention of ever being in close quarters with Aziraphale ever again if he could help it. Said angel seemed to be harbouring under the impression that Falling was just some casual thing. He remembered his Fall and shuddered. It was only a split second and at the same time it seemed to last for millennia. His wings were charred to ash and his essence was raw and from that very essence something had been pulled away like a blood sacrifice where you pull out the heart with your bare hands. It was love. Demons were not supposed to feel love. _Oh, but how much they craved it_, nonetheless. He had found Ligur, soon enough and they became kindred spirits and maybe a little bit of that was refilled yet again. But Aziraphale had no idea what he was talking about.

At some point or other an annoying little melody started playing in the back alley.

It took both of them quite some time to notice it, and, as soon as Aziraphale did, his expression turned from one of divine retribution to one of pure love. Hastur nearly retched. It was one thing to crave love and another thing entirely to actually witness it in others. Especially as a demon.

‘I’m so sorry, I have to take this.’

He then pulled out a plastic rectangle out of his coat pocket and started to speak into it. Admittedly, it looked a bit older and more used than the other pocket rectangles Hastur had witnessed but he didn’t understand any of them, regardless.

‘Hello, love. Oh, yes, quite. I’ll be home in a little while. You know me and how easily I get distracted. Make yourself comfortable, I shouldn’t be long.’

The little pocket rectangle safely tucked away, Aziraphale turned his eyes to Hastur once more. 

‘Thank you for the heads up.’

‘Nhn…don’t do that. You shouldn’t thank demons.’

‘Alright then, it’s been a pleasure seeing you.’

‘Displeasure,’ Hastur muttered but his heart wasn’t in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rant begins:  
So, as I was saying in the last chapter, I saw some on-set pictures with the new Discworld's Watch series. Remember the first chapter where I ranted about there being a Watch series to begin with? I am a huge Discworld nerd. I have all the books. I read them religiously. Vimes is my favourite character ever. So when I found out they're making a Watch series I squealed like a teenage fangirl. There was talk about Terry's daughter being in on it so I thought 'Okay so this is going to be Good Omens 2.0' in regards to the accuracy and being faithful to the source material. Boy oh boy was I wrong about that.  
To commence - why the fuck did they feel the need to make it steampunk? Why not stick to Paul Kidby's brilliant designs? It's not steampunk you fuckers, it's Victorian era reinterpreted with traces of medieval England and (in what concerns Jingo) ancient Arab civilisations. Steampunk, for fuck's sake!  
Also, the casting is abysmal. Carrot is OK, I guess, but other than him everyone looks horrid. Vimes was supposed to look like Clint Eastwood - Terry said so himself! Angua is particularly bad. She was supposed to have long golden locks and be an utter beauty. She doesn't. She isn't. That was the whole point - that she was really beautiful and people thought heh, nice beautiful lady when she was in fact a werewolf. She looks like shit in the pictures (I'm not hating on the actress, I'm hating on what they did to her).  
Vetinari is apparently a woman now because fuck you all. I didn't like Charles Dance when he played Vetinari - and not because of his acting skills - he was an amazing Vetinari - but because of the fact that they didn't dye his bloody hair. Vetinari is and should be a white middle-aged black-haired son of a bitch. He was portrayed as Machiavelli's 'Prince' ffs.  
I'm all for inclusion and all of that but when you translate books to film you should fucking respect the books - especially since the author is dead and can't give his consent on all of the changes. The horrible fucking changes.  
I though since Good Omens was out there and it had/has the huuuge fanbase it gathered that they will learn from that and do the books justice. I was wrong.  
God, I hate those pictures so much. I've waited for a Watch series for more than 15 years now and now that we have it I find it seriously lacking. Cheery looks awful, Vimes looks like a rock'and'roll failed old grandpa, Angua has short hair for whatever fucking reason and I saw some of the casting choices and Carcer is black!!! Why? Again, I'm all for inclusion but it doesn't warrant changing existing characters just to jot down that 20% of the cast is now black. Also making the villain black sucks. It's ingrained in Hollywood's view on things, so there goes.  
I haven't even seen any pictures with the Treacle Mine Road police station but I think it's going to be as bad as the rest of them. I shudder even to think what they'll be doing to Nobby and Colon. Oh my God, I hate this so fucking much!  
Hogfather respected the books entirely, so did The Colour of Magic (although I hate the Rincewind ones) and even Going Postal was okay - minus Moist traveling into the past when he landed in the pile of letters- which didn't happen in the movie. Why not do it like that? Aaaargh, I think about those movies and I get even more riled up. They basically shat on everything I wanted to see in a Discworls series. I screamed at the computer for a full half hour.  
Rant ends. (although internally the rant is still going on)


	56. When the Serpent layeth down on thy floore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit's going down!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean it, this chapter is the beginning of it.

**Saturday. Five years and six months after the end of the world. 1pm.  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

** _When the Serpent layeth down on thy floore, first Lots will come, then One will come and They will aske to War in Heaven anew._ **

Aziraphale was re-re-re-reading one of his books when the Earth started shaking and the next minute he knew, his shop was full of Holy Angels. _And a particular demon_. He tried his best to calm himself but all of that divine wrath had to have an outlet at some point and he believed this was it. 

Crowley was laying limply on the floor, arms and feet tied up with what would appear to be Heavenly chains judging by the angry red burns they left on his skin. One of his eyes was black and one of his legs was sitting at an odd angle. Crowley in chains before his very eyes had not been a part of any plan. Hastur would have told him so, for fear of what the angel would do to him otherwise. So this was not green-lit by Hell._ Just Heaven, apparently._

‘Unhand him this instant!’ Aziraphale yelled at the lot of them in general, but Gabriel in particular as the smug bastard was just sitting there, hands clasped with a smirk on his face.

Crowley eyed him with an unfocused gaze and mumbled something along the lines of ‘M’aight, angel’.

‘Now, why would I do that, Aziraphale?’

He was flanked by Michael, Ariel and Azrael on one side and Uriel, Sandalphon and Cerviel on the other. Ariel was the only one out of the lot who seemed to be not quite on board. Azrael was just his particular unpleasant self, like always. _Angel of Death indeed_, give it to the humans to interpret things just the slight amount of wrong. And Cerviel, well, it should be fitting to have his old boss present if he was to be given the sack. He seemed bored rather than particularly angry. Like someone who was forced to go on team-building exercises the exact weekend a new season of his favourite show would air. 

Behind him there was a large number of lower angels. Some of them Aziraphale remembered from before he was stationed on Earth. There was Shoftiel and Puriel and Zaapiel and Elyon – _that son of a bitch_. All of them bad angels and nasty buggers all around. He had no doubt the other ones whose names he didn’t know were just as vile. Agnes had warned him, from the very beginning.

‘Now that Hell has no more use for the demon, they were quite willing to part with him. They are getting a new demon after all. Best to keep balance.’

‘I have it on good authority that’s a blatant lie.’

‘Consorting with the enemy, aren't you? Although that’s no longer news by now.’

‘Well, aren’t _you_?’

This got Gabriel quite a fair amount of raised eyebrows from the other angels present.

‘I know all about your talk with Beelzebub and I know exactly how it went. So don’t try to pull one over everyone’s eyes because it just won’t do - what was it you called me…ah, "sunshine".’

Aziraphale was feeling quite emboldened by the fact that him Falling had been a certainty he had more than 1000 years to come to terms with and more than five years to prepare for. He was also very emboldened by the fireplace poker he was holding that he had managed to get a hold of before he stumbled from the backroom to the front of the shop.

‘Gabriel, is this true?’ Ariel stumbled back from the group a few steps and started eyeing them doubtfully.

‘Well, I had to ask for their permission, now didn’t I?’ Gabriel threw her a cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes. _What was it with Angels and dissent? Just keep your mouths shut and do as you’re told!_ ‘Couldn’t just go and grab one of their demons willy-nilly.’

‘See, but that’s exactly what you’ve been doing. So. Let. Go. Of. Him.’

His eyes started blazing more blinding than the heart of a dying star and the lesser angels had to avert their gaze from all the brightness. Some of them even winced. _Good._

‘Gabriel, is this true?’ Ariel repeated, by now slightly closer to Aziraphale than the other angels.

‘Shut up, Ariel. Who even thought to string her along?’ Gabriel snarled.

‘There had to be a majority, Gabriel, we’ve discussed this,’ Michael hissed. ‘And seeing as Jophiel and Chamuel couldn’t be bothered -’

Aziraphale started laughing. And then he just kept laughing for a full minute. Everyone in the room was giving him the side eye.

‘I heard about the signatures, that was a laugh,’ Aziraphale said when he managed to get a hold of himself and even wiped away a tear. ‘Very modern of you. I just never thought you’d be so stupid to try and do this without getting at least the seven big ones. That’s a bit improper, isn’t it?’

‘The Metratron signed off on this,’ Gabriel stated on a louder tone than necessary so as to stop whatever hubbub had started happening behind him.

‘Metatrons’s a cunt,’ Crowley supplied, his face focused solely on Aziraphale as he gave him a toothy grin.

This earned Crowley a boot between the ribs, courtesy of Sandalphon and earned Sandalphon a poker pressed tightly over his jugular, courtesy of Aziraphale and it was already drawing blood. _It was a very sharp poker_, Aziraphale had made sure.

They stayed like this for a while, none of the participants wanting to break this moment stilled in time, realising full well that then all metaphorical Hell would break loose. 

The bell over the shop door was the only sound that broke the silence.

‘Hello, Gabe, long time no see!’ was uttered joyfully from the entrance of the shop and snapped most of the angels out of their daze. Aziraphale’s eyes were still on Sandalphon, still brighter than constellations and just as cold. 

He could not care less, even if God Herself was to come to his bookshop. No one would lay a finger on Crowley and live to tell the tale. Sandalphon gulped.

‘Oh, seems I’m late to the party, then. Gone and started off without me, have you Gabe?’

The new addition to the group smiled beatifically at the lot of them. _It didn’t matter_. He would end all of them before they took Crowley away from him.

‘Rapahel,’ Gabriel stated, coldly. ‘Stop calling me that.’

‘Nah, spoils the whole fun. What are you up to these days? Word has it you want to Fall a certain Angel.’

This managed to make Aziraphale’s eyes snap to the newcomer. 

‘Now how would you know that?’ Gabriel sneered at him. ‘Michael, I hope this isn’t one of your doings, you with all your back-channels.’ 

Michael shook her head.

‘Well, I have it on very good authority, Gabe.’

There were a lot of gasps, one of which was Aziraphale’s own. He knew he would Fall, he just didn’t expect all of Heaven to be down with it.

‘The thing is, Gabe,’ Raphael continued as he circled the bunch, knowing full well what he was doing to Gabriel’s almost none-existing self restraint, ‘you should have had some seven odd signatures to be able to do that. And well…you don’t. I should have guessed you’d at least have six, since it stood to reason you wouldn’t bother to ask for my permission. So, imagine my surprise when I had a lovely little talk with Jophiel. She seemed quite distressed. And Chamuel as well. Went out of his way to find me when I didn’t particularly want to be found.’

His gaze travelled to the other Archangels. It lingered a bit on Michael and Azrael but it landed on Ariel in the end and stayed there.

‘I’m kinda disappointed in you.’

Ariel had the decency to look down at her feet.

‘I didn’t know. They said that…I’ll strike my name off, I promise,’ Ariel said on the verge of tears.

‘You will do no such thing!’ Gabriel screamed.

‘And why is that?’ Raphael asked, on his most dulcet of tones.

‘Because I’m in charge and I won’t allow it!’

This was met with stunned silence. And then the shouting started.

Aziraphale couldn’t give a damn about power-grabs back in Heaven. He could only think about one thing. And that was that Crowley was hurt. He darted on his hands and knees and took the demon’s frail body into his arms backing away from the lot defensively.

The shouting continued as he reached the nearest bookshelf and placed Crowley on the floor with his back leaned against it. 

‘Darling? Are you alright? Who did this to you? I’ll rip them apart limb by limb, I swear.’

His hands were stroking Crowley’s cheeks, his hair, his shoulders. Everything was done tentatively and softly as Aziraphale took in the extent of the damage done to him, now that they were sitting so close.

‘Angel,’ Crowley chuckled. ‘Who would have thought me being beaten up by Heaven would make you go full knight in a shining armour on me. Had I known I would have done it sooner.’

This earned him a loaded gaze from Aziraphale that melted as quickly as it came and now Aziraphale had his arms wrapped around him and peppered kisses into his hair. _A guardian angel, indeed._

In the background the yelling reached a new high.

Michael was particularly cross.

‘It’s IN the NAME, Gabriel. _She who is as God!_ What gives you the right -'

‘Excuse me, both of you, but it should be voted on,’ Azrael interjected. He didn’t much care, either way. Didn’t care about this situation in particular, either. He was just very bored and wanted to go along for the ride. Now this right here, what was happening in front of him was not boring at all. He tried his best to keep it that way. Also, he still hadn’t forgiven Michael for the despicable stunt she pulled and wanted to see her squirm. 

‘_Voted on_?’ Gabriel’s scream could curdle milk. ‘We voted on this, didn’t we, and look where this got us! Not even seven signatures? Is that all too much to ask? No, this demands proper leadership, someone with an iron fist. Chamuel and Jophiel are weak excuses for Angels and maybe they should Fall as well. Ariel, you’re an utter disgrace. ‘_Strike your name off_’. What is the _matter_ with you? As for you, Raphael,’ he turned around, finger pointed at the angel in question who seemed to be very proud about the chaos he had created, ‘_Fuck you!_’ 

‘The feeling is mutual, Gabe, rest assured.’ 

Raphael, happy to have made his point and happy to instil just a little bit of rebellion under Gabriel’s command, swirled on his heels, trying to find the particular angel he had come for in the first place. 

Then his eyes landed on Aziraphale. Aziraphale was staring back at him with contempt. And quite a lot of anger. Then Raphael’s gaze went lower, to the demon in his arms. The look of mirth on his face was quickly replaced with disgust. Aziraphale wanted to discorporate him then and there. 

'What is _that?’_

‘Ah, now we’re talking,’ Gabriel stopped mid yell and smiled a predatory smile. ‘You didn’t know, did you? Wondering off into the sunset like that. Our little Angel here decided to fraternise with a demon. Even _more_ than that, as we all know.’ This was said with a look of utter disgust. ‘Not so against his Fall now, are you?’ 

Raphael threw him a murderous look and approached the pair as slowly and as delicately as possible. Aziraphale pointed his poker at him, his other arm holding Crowley to his chest protectively. Raphael raised his palms to appease the angel and drew several steps nearer. All the other angels were looking at all of this like it was the grandest cinematic show put to film. Too bad no one had thought to bring some popcorn along. 

Gabriel’s victorious little smirk at having Rapahel played for a sucker was quickly replaced with a look of confusion. 

Raphael knelt a foot away from the pair and miracled the Heavenly chains away. Aziraphale’s eyes shot up. He couldn’t have done that, a mere Principality. That was something only an Archangel could do. 

Then Raphael drew even nearer and Aziraphale was still too shell-shocked to protest. And then he did what any angel tasked with being The Healer of God should do. He healed. 

He placed his hands over Crowley’s broken leg and Crowley whimpered at that. Resetting bone was bound to be painful, no matter how you chose to do it. Then he swept his hands over the long number of bruises that marred his whole body and finished by miracleing away the black eye. 

He leaned in over the two and whispered only for their benefit. 

‘I know there’s more, but I won’t have you pull out your wings. Not in front of the lot of them. Do you think you can bear it just a bit longer.’ Crowley gave an imperceptible nod and bit his lip. 

_Pull out his wings?_ Aziraphale was confused. _Had something happened to his wings?_ Oh, they were going to pay for it. His eyes lit up again with divine fury. Raphael threw him a pleading look. 

He would just have to reel it in for now. 

Raphael gave them the curtest of nods, got up to his feet and his attention was on Gabriel and the lot yet again. He started talking on the calmest of tones. 

‘When I asked what _that_ was, I was actually inquiring about,’ he drew a deep breath and started yelling. ‘_Who in God’s name thought it a good idea to torture him like that, you fuckers?_’ 

The angels at the back mostly shrugged but were very definitely veering towards the door. 

The wrath of an Archangel was not something to take lightly. Of course there was Gabriel and he was always pissed about something or other. _They were used to that_. More often than not they would go for a smoke break in that none-existent third floor bathroom and bitch about him. But having the avatar of healing scream his head off at you was quite disconcerting. 

‘What’s it to you? He’s a demon, he doesn’t matter!’ Gabriel replied trying to match Raphael’s tone but failing. Partly due to the fact that on another plane of existence Raphael’s six sets of wings started unfurling. The swishes of air could be felt in this dimension quite distinctly. His eyes started glowing and leaking all over the edges the purest and the brightest green imaginable. 

Some of the lesser angels were by now leagues away from the bookshop. _So what if they got a strongly worded note from Gabriel? Sod that!_

Azrael was leaning against a pillar, hands across his chest and having the time of his life. He didn’t remember the last time he felt this excited. 

Ariel was wringing her fingers and looking at her feet dejectedly. _Why had she ever agreed to be here in the first place?_

Michael’s gaze was shooting daggers between Gabriel and Raphael, _both of them vainglorious knobs._

Uriel and Sandalphon had veered slightly towards a corner. Having the bosses dish it out in the open like that in front of them was disturbing. 

Cerviel had, at some point or other, declared that this went well above his pay-grade and, in proper bureaucratic fashion, gave a swift wave to Aziraphale, out of propriety’s sake rather than anything else. He had been in his department after all, and although he never could remember the faces of his employees, appearances needed to be kept. And then he very pointedly left. 

The bell atop the door of the bookshop rang for what seemed like hours with all the hustle and bustle. So, when it rang for the hundredth time, no one paid it any particular mind. 

‘I do hope you haven’t started this all without me,’ a little old lady with a wicker basket and round spectacles on the bridge of her nose made her way inside. She had salt and pepper hair caught up in a bun reminiscent of all those ads with quaint-looking grandmothers. _Usually about some jam or other._ She was dressed in muted browns and everything about her seemed dim and faded, except her eyes. They were the brightest of blues. _And she had a tartan quilt_, Aziraphale remarked, out of all the things. Trust Aziraphale to be Aziraphale even in the most stressful of times. 

She stepped around the Archangels barring the way and took the scene in. 

‘Raph, I’ve told you about a thousand times you have to warn Me about stuff like this in advance, you know how I get distracted.' 

‘God?’ Crowley managed out of the lot of them while they all just stood there, jaws touching the floor. He recognised that certain gleam in Her eye. The same one She had had on the rooftop terrace where She had been posing as a young woman with an intricate braid. 

‘Oh, Satan give me strength,’ Crowley said and then promptly fainted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel protagonists, or at least mentioned:  
Gabriel – messanger Archangel. ‘The Strength of God’  
Michael - warrior Archangel. 'She who is as God'  
Azrael - Archangel of Death. 'He who God Helps'  
Ariel - Archangel of the environment. 'The Lion of God'  
Sandalphon – giant Angel whose name means 'co-brother' of the Metatron  
Uriel – great Angel whose name means 'God is my light'  
Cerveil - Angel in charge of the Principalities  
Shoftiel - Angel whose name means 'the judge of God.'  
Puriel – Angel whose name means 'the fire of God' - Angel of punishment.  
Zaapiel – Angel punisher of wicked souls  
Elyon – ministering Angel who brought the plague of hail upon Egypt (hence the hate since Aziraphale wanted to keep all of them well fed and altogether in good condition)


	57. Maybe consult Someone on office policy the next time around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which God does some scolding. Like She should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The upper case/lower case use of Angels/angels is deliberate. Whenever Heaven (minus Aziraphale who isn't a stuck-up knob) think of themselves they think 'Angels'. Whenever someone else does it it's just plain 'angels'. Sorry for the confusion.

**Saturday. Five years and six months after the end of the world. 2pm.  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

‘God?’ Gabriel repeated. It couldn’t be.

‘What, did you expect the burning bush business all over again? You lot _loved_ that,’ God commented as if She’s read his mind. _Might have, after all_.

‘Why now, of all times?’ Gabriel couldn’t give it up.

This was supposed to be an easy one. _In and Out_. It hadn’t been particularly easy from the get-go. Not a lot of Angels wanted to sign something that made the only Angel capable of resisting Hellfire Fall. _It wasn’t proper that. Maybe that’s a sign from God to not fuck around with him_, they’ve said. Or the important ones said, at least. The lower class of Angels said what every paid-by-the-hour, minimum-wage employee would say, which was – ‘_you’ll have to speak to my manager_’. 

He didn’t even know how they found out about the Hellfire bit to begin with. He had made sure he kept it on the hush-hush. And all of a sudden, boom! It was all everyone talked about. Heaven was known to be particularly prone to gossip, but the information had to have leaked from somewhere. He frankly suspected Pravuil, but he couldn’t ignore both Uriel and Sandalphon’s incompetence, so maybe it had been them not knowing when to keep their mouths shut. He still planned on convincing the other Angels, regardless.

He had tried explaining to Peliel over and over again that this was something that needed to be done to ensure no dissent would arise in the ranks in the future. And Peliel had explained back, and very politely, at that, that Gabriel needed to shove it and stop harassing him or any of the other Virtues or there’d be a strongly worded letter to HR.

With Cerviel it had been pretty simple in getting him to sign, Gabriel just pulled the rank card on him, seeing as Principalities were a lower tier of Angels, but even there there was doubt, there was uncertainty. And this was precisely what he feared and why he wanted this matter taken care of as soon as possible. They needed to be obedient and stop questioning like they had once done. There needed to be a Fall to spread a little fear among the ranks. And if that particular Fall just so happened to the one Angel responsible for him being played for a fool and mocked and talked behind his back about, then surely that would be a mere coincidence.

Raziel had said to leave the memo on his desk and he’ll look around it at some point. And then neither him or the rest of the Thrones had any reply. Oh, they did have a reply, it was, its pending signature, shouldn’t’ be long now. This went on for about a year and a half. At some point Gabriel just gave up.

Michael and Uriel and Sandalphon were on board with it, but then again, they were on board with everything.

Azrael had easily jumped on the wagon although for what exact reason Gabriel didn’t particularly know. 

Chamuel and Jophiel were dicks and even Ariel took some long convincing as Michael had recounted, preferring to sit in her own corner of Heaven and brood over animals, of all things.

And that had been that. The Powers were out of office at the moment - or so the automated reply would state whenever he tried reaching them. The Dominions had responded to his petition in much the same way people in general respond to petitions - which was completely ignoring it, and the Seraphim and Cherubim were off doing God knows what and not answering their phones on company time and salaries - so to speak.

Until that stupid bastard Aziraphale had done what he had done, he had had no leg to stand on. Everyone was convinced that the Angel had been accused and had been punished – so what if the punishment didn’t stick? They had already moved on. But then the bastard went around sullying his divine essence for good and that had a lot of more participating parties interested in signing. All the punisher Angels, all the ones who thwarted demons, the Angels of Death and destruction and the ones who had all that fun in biblical times suddenly had their interest piqued. It still was hard work, having to personally convince 200 very opinionated Angels to sign said petition. But it was worth it. He would have Aziraphale Fall, and now that he was sure his plan would work, he would add a little quaint detail in the mix. He didn’t just want him to Fall, he wanted him to suffer. He had just the right something in mind. _Or rather, someone_. 

And then Beelzebub just up and said no in his face. They didn’t even have the decency to pretend there was some bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo in the mix. Just plain, _fuck off Gabriel_, no.

_No matter_. It was not like Crowley actually belonged to Hell anymore. He wasn’t theirs to give away. He was just there for the taking. And Gabriel planned to do a fair number of things to him with Aziraphale watching. He really _really_ wanted to screw Aziraphale over in each and every possible way.

And then they caught the demon just outside his apartment building. Gabriel had spent a lot of time down on this blasted Earth trying to figure out where Crowley went when he was not in the bookshop. It had taken him ages to figure it out, whatever taxi services he employed to ‘_follow that car_’ - much to the drivers’ very obvious glee - not being able to keep up with that blasted automobile. 

And then the demon fought back. They had just planned to tie him up nicely and do all of the torturing in the bookshop in front of Aziraphale’s very eyes. They had not planned that Crowley would knee Sandalphon in the gut, hit Uriel over the head with his tire iron and punch Gabriel straight across the jaw. So they took some artistic liberties before bringing him here, so what? It was bound to happen at some point or other regardless.

And then Aziraphale developed an actual spine apparently as he actually had the nerve to question him and threaten the others.

And then Raphael came. _Fucking Raphael, always mucking about his plans_. Didn’t he sod off to wherever more than 1000 years ago? Wasn’t that enough? Why did he have to drag himself into this? _Oh, right, because he was a complete and utter wanker!_

He was pondering, as the Angels left one by one and Raphael started giving him the glowy eyes, _what else could possibly go wrong_, just to be sure they ticked all the boxes? Should Lucifer decide to make an appearance? Should all this melt in puddles of boiling sulphur? Should everyone just yell ‘syke’ and then have a laugh about it? Or should God herself split open the Heavens and say, now now, what do we have here?

And then God came.

All in all, a lot of ‘_and thens_’ had happened. Had Gabriel had any notion they would actually happen in this particular succession he would have said ‘_fuck it_’ from the get-go and gone to spend the next hundred years in the Bahamas instead.

‘Are you questioning Me?’ God asked, interest piqued. 

‘No, I guess not,’ Gabriel sighed and started rubbing the bridge of his nose.

‘Oh, stop getting your wings in a twist,’ God further said as She swatted Raphael’s arm with her knitting needles. Raphael blinked several times and his eyes turned back to normal.

Aziraphale was watching the whole scene mouth agape, eyes darting from God to Gabriel to God to Rapahel and then to God again.

He was vaguely aware that Crowley had fainted at some point but this was altogether too momentous to do something about it. He thought about owning some breathing salts but couldn’t be bothered to make a move.

God put the wicker basket down and started making rounds, inspecting everyone still present in the bookshop. 

She took Ariel in and tsk-ed.

‘I am very disappointed in you.’

‘Told you, Ari,’ Raphael pointed out, all smiles. They were quickly wiped away when God raised an eyebrow at him.

She looked at Ariel some more.

‘Wait. Who did this to her? Why doesn’t she have all her powers?’

They all shifted their eyes to the ground.

‘Ariel, dear, I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry. Apparently, the Ineffable Plan is something that I have to share with the class in order for you Angels to do anything right. You’re good. We’re good.’ God said as She hugged Ariel very tightly for all of them to see. Then Her expression changed completely. She turned back to the rest of them.

She then leaned towards Michael.

‘You. You, I suspected from the start. She Who Is As God. It should be a motivation! It should be something you strive towards, something you want to achieve! It shouldn’t be ‘_whatever I do, I do because I’m built in God’s image_'. I say I suspected, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less disappointed.’ 

Michael had the good grace to look ashamed.

‘Uriel, Sandalphon. A little ass-kissing when the chain of command is at stake, eh? Or did you truly believe in what you did? No matter - both are highly reprehensible and you should know better than just blindly follow whatever comes from department headquarters.’

Gabriel had stopped rubbing the bridge of his nose by this point and his eyebrows nearly reached his hairline.

‘Azrael, for Someone’s sake, could you be any more of a bastard?’ 

Azrael detached from the column he was lounging against and extended a hand that was clasped by both of Hers.

‘I’m not disappointed in you. I should have known. But I am rather cross,’ She said as She made her way to the wicker basket and fished something from inside of it. ‘That’s ten quid I’m not getting back.’

Rapahel laughed, flaunting around the ten quid. Then pouted for a bit.

‘Well, I guess we both lose ten quid over Ariel.’

‘Oh, just leave her be,’ Azrael interjected making his way towards Ariel and draping his arm over her shoulders. ‘She’s just depressed about, what was it again? Pangolins?’

Ariel elbowed him in the ribs.

God looked from one to the other, making sure they all bore the faces of properly scolded children. Except Azrael of course. You could send him to spend eternity perched up on a cloud and he would still give you a smug smirk. Then she turned to Gabriel.

‘Gabriel. What. The. Fuck?’

Aziraphale started gently shaking Crowley. _He had to hear this, he had to_.

‘God?’ Gabriel all but spluttered.

‘What exactly in G…in Somebody’s name, _Mine_, I suppose, made you wake up in the morning and think this was a good idea?’

‘We don’t sleep…’

Her stare could have cut through steel.

Gabriel exploded. Whatever thin slivers of sanity still kept his mind together decided that _nah, this was, all in all a little bit too much_, and took, by general consensus, the decision to just be on their merry way.

‘He averted the Apocalypse!’

‘Yes?’

‘What do You mean, _yes_? He averted the _fucking Apocalypse_! The Great Plan! All those years of preparing for it!’

‘Did I ever tell you to prepare for it?’

‘Well no, but-’

‘Did I ever send a memo to tell you _buckle up guys, this is it_?’ 

‘No, but -’

‘To be fair You sort of forget sending those,’ Raphael said and the steely gaze was shifted to him. He took the wise decision to shut up. This was not one of Her jolly banter moods.

‘Did I, at any point in time say: My children, I’ve spent aeons upon aeons creating this marvellous universe and all that is in it because at some point I just want to set fire to the whole thing and see how it burns, _wouldn’t that be a laugh_?’

‘But it is written!’

‘Gabriel, I swear to…Someone that I will become very _very_ cross with you if you continue in this child-like behaviour. You _really_ do not want Me cross.’

Gabriel gulped. All of them gulped actually and all at the same time. _No one wanted God cross_. Not this eternity, nor the next.

‘Now, could it be that ‘_it is written_’ might possibly originate from the same stupidity that birthed the phrase ‘_They say_’? Who says? _Oh, you know, Them_.’

‘Possibly.’

‘So maybe, just maybe, is it possible that in all that time when I was off examining My creation, someone from Up high started playing silly buggers and spreading words about a war with Hell?’

‘I don’t know, it always goes to answering machine when I try to reach the Seraphim.’

God groaned.

‘Is it also possible the same stupidity led to the Fall?’

‘Now now, you clearly said there had to be a Fall!’

‘But not like that, Gabriel! _Never like that_! People had to decide they didn’t like things the way they were and take a leap. Good and evil? Coins? Balance? There has to be one or what’s the point? But no. You wanted violence, you wanted war, much like you do now.’

Her eyes drifted to Michael. Michael tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible in between two bookshelves.

‘_You!_ You looked your brother in the eye and banished him into a pit of boiling sulphur. Flesh of your flesh. Soul of your soul. _How could you?_ He was bright and he was kind and he was your equal and you just threw him down like yesterday’s garbage. How could you? _She Who Is As God_. Is this how you all think I am? This cruel? This unforgiving?’

Michael was openly sobbing.

‘Whoever came with the bright idea for the Flood? _Hmm_? Was it one of you lot? Who thought to do whatever it is you’ve done to Sodom and Gomorrah? I _know_ who did the smiting,’ she turned, withering glare fixed on Sandalphon. ‘I haven’t forgotten about that. I’m just curious who gave the order. Who thought, maybe let’s not bother Upper Management with this, it’s a small matter, I’ve got this. Who was the smart bugger that came up with that whole business with Lot’s wife? Hmm?’

Everyone had the decency to look ashamed although none of them had any idea who actually gave those particular orders.

‘Well, the Metatron -’

‘The Metatron is just an Angel, Gabriel, as much as you lot down here! He is called the Voice of God because I can’t talk to humans in my celestial form. I can only do burning bushes and rays of light and quite a large number of people went mad even from that. And I can’t bloody well embody a human corporation and say ‘I’m God’ or they’ll have Me stoned. I should know, _I’ve tried_. So, should I instruct you some more about scripture?’

‘But he said -’

‘I don’t care what he said! He will be dealt with in time. Whatever role he chose to attribute to himself, he is just another Angel at the end of the day. Let Me put this in laymen’s terms. The Metatron should take the messages he receives from Me and lay it down for the general public. He is what a presidential spokesperson is to the president. He doesn’t write the speeches, he doesn’t formulate any of his own opinions in the name of the president, he just does the talking. He hasn’t tried to contact Me in ages and it appears he took a liking to being the one in charge. It looks like he went above his station and I will have words with him. But you should have _all_ known better!’

Aziraphale started shaking Crowley more insistently. Nothing happened. _Oh, dear, he was missing all the good parts_.

‘And as for Aziraphale,’ She turned towards him and his whole body froze. _Oh God, oh God, oh God_…quite literally in this particular instance. ‘_Of course_ he averted the Apocalypse, you stupid, _stupid_ Angel,’ She turned towards Gabriel again and Aziraphale could breathe once more. ‘That’s why I made him in the first place!’

She paced some more, all of the angels rooted in place.

‘I swear, at times you all give me such a headache.’

Aziraphale could not believe his ears. All this time he always thought he was somehow broken, ill-made, not fit to be an angel of the Host. He loved everything. He loved the world and the people in it and the art and the music and the food and Crowley and he never wanted to lose that and that’s why he fought so very hard to keep in in motion. And all this while, God not only knew, but She approved and She had made him particularly for this.

He cradled Crowley’s head and started crying.

God spun around on Her heels facing him yet again but this time he didn’t feel any of the fear from before. Just acceptance and love. And then he wept and wept.

‘Gabriel, I’m holding you accountable for all this, just so you know,’ She pointed at him as She made Her way down to the floor and caressed Aziraphale’s cheek.

Aziraphale looked up at Her, demon still held protectively in his arms.

‘Aziraphale, My child, I had no idea you would go through such hardships. Whenever I plan ahead, it’s always the Ineffable Plan. I never once stopped to take into account the human aspect of it. And you are so very human, are you not, Principality, Guardian of the Eastern Gate and Protector of Mankind? I always planned for you and Crowley to be there when the world ended. Or didn’t, in this case,’ She gave him a warm smile. He couldn’t stop crying and he found he couldn’t give a damn about it. ‘I never thought you two would fall in love. Never crossed My mind. Now, in retrospect, that was rather silly of Me since I made you both to be such loving creatures, just to make sure the Plan went as it should. And all this time you just loved one another and could do nothing about it because of whatever retribution you thought your respective sides will rain down upon you.’

Aziraphale’s eyes left God’s and travelled towards Gabriel. 

‘About that, God, um…’ Gabriel started, lamely. ‘He laid with a demon, shared his divine essence with him, surely that must be punished.’

If looks could kill, Gabriel would not only be dead, but decomposing quite quickly in the unforgiving desert sun.

Aziraphale started rocking Crowley ever so gently. _Come on, dear, wake up. Please, wake up. You’ve been out for so long_.

‘Is love to be punished now, hmm?’ God only threw a side glance towards Gabriel. ‘Good to know of all the little rules you’ve set in My absence.’

She turned back towards Aziraphale, gave him a curt smile and was on Her feet yet again.

‘Right. So. I’ve always seen this as a short chat, _get yourselves together and all that_, but, apparently, I have to put off visiting Pluto because you all have your heads stuck up your arses.’

The angels, as one, lowered their gaze to the floor.

‘So, what I want you to do is - go back to Headoffice. _All of you_ \- that includes you, Raphael,’ She waved away any possible retort. She wasn’t feeling particularly generous, at the moment. ‘Gather that list of signatures, I want to see each and every one of the names on it. Summon the Metatron, I have quite a large number of words I want to have with him. And for Someone’s sake, fix that glitch in the telephone system and fix it fast, because, it it’s not properly working and the Seraphim are lazying wherever instead of at their posts they are all going to Fall today. Oh, and if anyone _ever again_ plans to hurt these two, I will make it My own personal objective to torment them for all of eternity,’ She clasped Her hands together and threw them an ice-cold smile. ‘I’ll be with you shortly.’

They nodded as one and were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel protagonists, or at least mentioned:  
Gabriel – messenger Archangel. ‘The Strength of God’  
Michael - warrior Archangel. 'She who is as God'  
Raphael – Archangel of Healing. “The Shining One Who Heals.”  
Azrael - Archangel of Death. 'He who God Helps'  
Ariel - Archangel of the environment. 'The Lion of God'  
Jophiel - Archangel of Beauty. 'The beauty of God'  
Chamuel – Archangel of Peace. ‘He who sees God’  
Pravuil – Angel in charge of the records of Heaven  
Sandalphon – giant Angel whose name means 'co-brother' of the Metatron  
Uriel – great Angel whose name means 'God is my light'  
Raziel – Angel chief over the Thrones  
Peliel – Angel who rules the Virtues  
Cerveil - Angel in charge of the Principalities
> 
> Told you the bookshop's floor will make quite a large number of appearances. It's going to be a proper secondary character by the end of this since it will be heavily figured in the next two chapters as well.


	58. The infamous floor of the bookshop takes centre stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As I kept mentioning it - the floor of the bookshop is a proper character by now so I felt like giving it the praise it deserves by naming a chapter after it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're a fan of God - my particular God, that is - She will make several appearances later on, so don't worry. If you're not a fan...just skip those chapters I suppose.
> 
> Wow, look at me being a productive little bee. Three chapters in a week, who would have thought it?

**Saturday. Five years and six months after the end of the world. 3pm.  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

The shop was empty yet again, safe for one angel, one demon and one God.

‘Crowley, please wake up.’

‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Aziraphale,’ God muttered as She made Her way into the back room and brought back a bottle of whisky and three glasses. 

She took the lid off and placed the opened bottle just under Crowley’s nose.

His eyes snapped open and he started flailing his limbs about.

‘Whoa, hey there!’ God called out. ‘I want to drink that, you know!’

‘Ngk,’ Crowley intoned, intelligently as he got a grip on Aziraphale’s lapels and tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible in Aziraphale’s lap.

‘Is he always so eloquent?’ God asked as She pushed a glass of whiskey into Aziraphale’s hand.

‘Most of the times, yes. But he has his moments,’ he smiled his brightest smile, thinking back to Crowley’s love confession.

Crowley, for his part, dug his hands deeper into the angel’s clothing and scurried in his lap to be as protected as possible from God. _Oh shit, God!_ He should let go of the angel if he didn’t want to damn him for all eternity.

God extended another hand and Crowley did his best to scurry even higher up in Aziraphale’s lap.

‘Crowley, I’m just offering you whisky. I don’t plan on smiting you or whatever other ideas you people came up with Downstairs.’

Crowley peered at her dubiously from between one of Aziraphale’s lapels and his own shoulder.

‘I know you’re both alcoholics, Crowley, don’t leave Me hanging.’

He must have hit his head. _He hit his head and this was a fever dream_. He took the whisky anyway. As She said, they were both alcoholics and there was little reason for denying that.

Apparently in this particular fever dream he was sitting in Aziraphale’s lap on the floor of the bookshop and they had God as a visitor. _It was not a very bad fever dream all around_. He’s had some much worse ones along the years.

‘Aziraphale,’ dream God said. ‘You did good, both of you.’

It was such a pleasure for your achievements to be praised. _Never mind it was just a dream._

He took a sip of the whisky and tried to shuffle even closer to his angel and _Oh God That Hurt!_

He winced.

Aziraphale pushed him away from his lap and made him sit on the floor by his own.

‘Oh, Crowley, Raphael said but I wasn’t paying attention. Dearest, can you pull out your wings?’

_His wings? Why would he do that?_

‘Please, dear?’

_Of course he would, his angel had just asked him to._

He concentrated for a bit and then his wings were in this plane of existence and _Oh God, they hurt. They hurt so bad!_

His wings were a mess of ripped feathers and dried blood. Nearly a third of his secondaries were missing, maybe half of the primaries in his left wing were broken and sitting at all angles while his scapulars were badly burned. You could see bare bone in more than a dozen spots.

‘What did they do to you, darling?’ Aziraphale all but wept. _And no, this was not how any of his fever dreams went at all, so maybe this was not that._

‘Is this real?’

‘Very real, my dear, now please stop fretting, I’m trying to heal you.’

God tsk-ed and with a snap of Her fingers his wings were whole again. She obviously wanted to play it as Her being slightly annoyed at Aziraphale being all fussy, but he could swear that something in Her eyes glinted for just a second with pure divine wrath.

Crowley had a very hard time dealing with that. _Okay, if this wasn’t a dream then what was God doing here?_

Well, for one, She was raising her glass in cheers, with an encouraging expression, by now any traces of that ice cold glint all gone. He did the same, by muscle memory alone.

‘Angel, this can’t be real. God’s here.’

‘And so She is,’ Aziraphale beamed at him.

‘Did you light up some of that incense I warned you about?’

‘Darling, this is very, very real, now could you please stop thinking about this too hard and just join us here in reality?’

Crowley looked from one ethereal being to the next and his brain short-circuited. He closed his eyes.

‘_Oh, dear_.’

‘Aziraphale, this is very bothersome. Do you think you can get him to properly function? It’s just that I have to reorganise the whole of Heaven in an hour or so and I was actually hoping on getting plastered by then. And neither of you two are helping.’

Aziraphale started shaking Crowley yet again. Maybe the third time was the charm.

‘Mhm.’

‘Are you awake, Crowley? Are you with us?’

‘Angel, God’s still here so I’m dreaming, for sure.’

Aziraphale drew a deep breath, prayed a bit about what he was about to do, although he knew he didn’t much need to, God being here and wanting the same thing - which was for Crowley to be easy to deal with, and then he slapped Crowley hard across the face.

‘_Ow_, you bastard!’

‘So, are you with us now?’

‘Ow,’ he said again for good measure. God was still there so either there was a glitch with his dreaming system or… ‘Aziraphale, is God just now staring at me?’

‘I am, Crowley. Can we _please_ just get over it?’

Crowley drew in a deep breath. And then exhaled. And then did the same thing for 5 minutes straight.

‘I am gonna smite him, you know,’ God told Aziraphale as She replenished Her glass of whiskey.

‘Crowley, dear, do be a darling and just say something already!’

Crowley looked from one to the other yet again. 

‘Why would God ever want to speak with me?’

‘Because you helped stop the End of the World, _you twat_! Aziraphale, I swear to Someone that if he keeps going on like this you’re also to come to Headoffice for group training initiative since it’s completely bonkers that you fell in love with _that_!’

Crowley’s two brain cells recovered from the short-circuit and he gathered Aziraphale in his arms.

‘He’s never going up there ever again, You hear me? You’ll have to fight me to Hell and back again, but he isn’t ever setting foot in that vile, hateful place!’

‘Oh, there he is at last!’ God intoned. ‘So happy to have you with us today, Crowley.’

Aziraphale was smiling smugly at him, _the bastard_. God once again extended the forgotten whisky glass. He took it, peered at its contents for a second and then quickly downed it.

Aziraphale threw him a look that screamed ‘_please don’t act like a complete savage, not in front of God, at least_’ and then realised they were all acting like savages sprawled over the bookshop floor like that.

‘I have a kitchen, You know. With a proper table to sit at. I could make tea.’

‘Now why would I want any tea when you have this perfect bottle of Macallan around.’

‘I like you,’ Crowley said as She refilled his glass, still very much believing this was but a dream.

‘I know you do. Heard you every time you tried talking to Me.’

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘And have a repeat of…whatever that was? No, thank you.’

Everyone knew that wasn’t it but had the decency not to comment on it.

‘At least some scones. Oh, and I do have some amazing biscuits!’

_Okay, so maybe this wasn't a dream and they were all indeed lounging on the bookshop's floor_. Trust Aziraphale to be Aziraphale to a fault. Some of the previous snippets of conversation started taking shape in Crowley's brain. _God. Angels. Heaven and the like._

God and Crowley looked at one another and closed their eyes in defeat.

‘Angel,’ Crowley said because God had to deal with the whole of the Heavenly Host later on so he had the decency to deal with this angel in particular. ‘No one gives a fuck about scones.’

Aziraphale pouted.

‘I mean, you could have some if you want, don’t see the harm in that,’ he added as he didn’t want to completely rain on his parade. ‘But other than that, I think everyone just wants to be. And if it’s on the floor of your bookshop, then so be it. It could do with a mop every now and again though as I keep telling you.’

Aziraphale looked embarrassed, so he went to find some of those scones instead.

Crowley lounged in a completely improper fashion, his back plastered on one of the bookshelves yet again and legs spread at any odd angles. He only partially changed position to fill himself a third glass.

‘Who did that to your wings?’

‘Gabriel. At first. But then he let all of those lower angels have a go. I did punch him, though. T’was a good punch. Could have sworn I’ve dislocated his mandible. But then he miracled it away, the fucker.’

Aziraphale turned around the corner with a plateful of those blasted scones as he heard about Gabriel being punched. He would have very much liked to do that himself. _Well, he was happy at least one of them got the opportunity._

God did take a scone, in the end. Then She washed it down with some more whisky. _Restructuring all of Heaven would be such a bothersome affair_.

‘What now?’ Crowley asked looking down at his own half empty glass.

‘What do you mean, what now? It’s up to you. It’s always been up to you. You should know, you’ve had quite a bit of a hand in that. Free will. That one’s on you. _Well_, it’s on Me actually, but you helped.’

‘What if Hell comes back for its dues next?’ Crowley asked, very ill at ease. He could withstand all the torture that Heaven could plan for him, but he could never let the same happen to Aziraphale.

‘They won’t. I have it on very good authority. Top management, as they say.’

‘You…Lucifer? Well, bugger me for a lark!’

‘Language, Crowley!’

He shot Aziraphale his most ‘_are you serious with this?_’ look he could muster.

‘We meet up for brunch every hundred years on the clock,’ God supplied happily.

‘So much for fraternising with the enemy,’ he drawled as he threw Aziraphale a very smug look.

‘He’s not the Enemy, Crowley. He is one of My children. And one I love dearly.’

‘Why have him Fall then? Why have any of us Fall?’

‘Pass me the whisky, why don’t you?’ God gestured with a heavy sigh. ‘Look, I know the circumstances of the Fall weren’t ideal.’

Crowley snorted.

‘But there had to be one. Two sides of the same coin. And in the middle of it, humanity. Can’t have freedom of choice if there is no choice. Can’t have people be quintessentially good or quintessentially evil. They have to be various shades of grey.’

‘Except Nazis, of course,’ Aziraphale mumbled, thinking back about how he almost got discorporated and almost lost his books.

‘Oh, I’m with you on that, I have no idea what happened back there. Must have been a glitch of some sort. Even Downstairs doesn’t want to talk about it much. They took credit, of course, but Lucy had quite the crisis of faith when those news reports came in after they liberated Germany. And trust Me, having a crisis of faith as the ruler of the Underworld is quite something.’

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up and nearly reached his hairline. _Lucy? Really?_ Oh he’s gonna have so much fun at the next briefing! _Oh, wait, there’s not going to be a next briefing_. Nor a briefing after that.

‘What were We talking about? Oh, right. The power of choice.’

‘No, we were talking about Lucifer. Why make him Fall out of all the angels if You claim You love him so much?’

‘I didn’t make him Fall, Crowley. Michael did. I just offered him a promotion once he Fell since I wanted to have the other side in as capable hands as Mine. Proper management and all of that. He doesn’t mind it much. Not anymore, at least. King of his own castle, you know. Oh, and probably him and Gabriel would have killed each other at some point if they were both to stay in Heaven. I know even Raph wanted to kill the bastard on more than one occasion. Had to send him on paid leave down on Earth for more than a thousand years.’

‘Why not put Gabriel in charge of Hell, if he’s that much of a bastard?’

God fought back a shiver.

‘Crowley, from what you’ve seen today, could you honestly tell Me that you would want Gabriel reigning over everything evil? _Really?_ Did Lucifer ever strike you as evil incarnate?’ 

Crowley shook his head.

‘Well he did sort of split the Earth in half and he yelled his lungs out at us while looking a tad terrifying,’ Aziraphale felt the need to interject.

‘He has Hell under his command. You have to keep up appearances,’ God explained, ‘Gabriel on the other hand - he did what he did as a proper Angel of the Lord. Could you imagine what he would have done as the ruler of Hell?’

Both Crowley and Aziraphale fought back a shiver as well.

‘Why have him built like that in the first place, Lord? If You knew what he would become.’

‘Are you questioning Me, Aziraphale?’

‘Well, um….’

‘Because I’ve always liked questioning, Me.’

‘Now, hold on a second -’

‘Is this about the Fall, again?’

‘Well, it was very unpleasant, I’ll have You know,’ Crowley replied obstinately while he crossed his arms across his chest like a petulant child, trying to pour as much of the horrors of his Fall from grace into those words. But since we all know he wasn’t being a particularly eloquent demon by this point, he wasn’t very successful.

‘You questioned and then you were punished for it and you Fell. Is that it?’

‘Pretty much, yeah.’

‘No. You questioned, therefore the other Angels feared you. Feared what the answers to those questions would be. God is good. God is proper. Whatever God says it should be done. That is Heaven’s M.O. That is what everyone believes Up there. I don’t have a single evil bone in My body. So that has to be outsourced. I’m incapable of evil-doings. _Well_, try to be, at least,’ She added when She saw both of their expressions.

Aziraphale hummed, realised he was way behind the others where drinking was concerned, and poured himself another half glass of whisky. Only a half because the bottle was empty, not because he was actually holding back. He frowned a bit and summoned another bottle.

‘People in Heaven didn’t question. Not much, anyway. I needed people in Hell to question, otherwise there wouldn’t be two sides. There would be no coin to begin with. I needed people like you down there. People who questioned. Who always thought _‘because that’s just how it’s done’_ was never good enough. Who probed, and who tested, and whose curiosity had no ends. You were one of them. And I am so very sorry for how it all happened, I am. But I really needed to have you there in the end, otherwise it would have been _the_ End. And I had no power over that. I do have all the power, but if I want the world to go on as I do, you, My creations are the only ones who should choose. _Would_ choose. I never made any of the Angels one way or the other. I encouraged certain virtues. Love, for you two – but love doesn’t always mean romantic love. _You_ chose that. Strength, for Gabriel. But strength doesn’t always mean becoming a power-hungry monster. _He_ chose that. I’ve always given you all the liberty to choose. That’s the whole _point_.’

‘Well, then. Ngk,’ Crowley intoned intelligently.

‘As I’ve asked before, is he always so eloquent?’

‘All the time. But You should hear him recite Shakespeare,’ Aziraphale replied with a smug glint in his eye.

Crowley elbowed him in the ribs.

‘Angel, you’re being a bit of a dick. And in front of God, I might add.’

God rolled Her eyes and chuckled at that.

‘Right, then. Better be off. All of Heaven to reorganise and all of that.’

Then the bell atop the entrance door chimed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments are highly appreciated! Cheers!


	59. Chance encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and War pay a visit to a certain bookshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternal love for the two boys! Warlock especially. He's baby!

**Saturday. Five years and six months after the end of the world. 4pm.  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

‘Aziraphale!’ a boy’s voice almost pleaded. It was Adam’s, of course it was.

‘Crowley!’ a second voice echoed and Aziraphale had no trouble recognising this one as well since the little devil spent more than enough time in the bookshop.

‘Hellspawn!’ Crowley called out. ‘War? What the Hell brings you two little shits down here?’

Adam quickly made his way from the entrance towards the bookshelf they were all huddled up against in seconds. He inspected the whole scene, realised Crowley was out of harm’s way and then fell to his knees and hugged the demon quite tightly. Warlock made his way over hesitantly. To Aziraphale’s horror he was carrying a gun. On second inspection Adam as well had been carrying a kitchen knife that he had dropped in the excitement. Warlock, pleased that said gun was not to be used at this point in time, placed it down on a shelf and made his way over as well. He crouched near Crowley and didn’t pay any of the others any mind as he gripped one of Crowley’s hands in a tight hold.

God looked at the whole scene with eyes as wide as saucer-plates and then gestured to the two, for Aziraphale’s merit. She pointed at the dark-haired boy that seemed of hellish stock, if you judged him by the clothes at least, and then mimicked some horns with Her fingers and shrugged. Aziraphale shook his head with a happy smile on his face and then pointed at Adam.

God’s eyebrows shot up in shock.

‘Crowley, you shouldn’t do that!’ Adam chastised him.

‘What the fuck did I do now?’

‘I felt it you know. You being in danger. But there’s such a long wait for the bus to Oxford. And then the train to London. And that was delayed. What? Why should it be delayed?’

‘Um…yeah. Think I might have had something to do with that, actually,’ Crowley half-smirked.

‘He called me, you know,’ Warlock continued. ‘I talked with the security agents and we picked him up from the station with the official car. That’s how we got here so fast.’ 

Now that they thought about it, there had been some sirens wailing about.

‘Please, never do that again,’ the Antichrist said on the verge of tears.

‘You know I had no particular say in what they did to me, don’t you, Adam?’

Warlock wanted to intervene and yell a loud ‘fuck you’ at whoever it was that threatened Crowley.

‘Mhm,’ Adam replied.

‘I am very happy that you’re so protective of me, the both of you. Even more so when your hellish Father is concerned,’ he turned to look to Adam.

‘Screw him, he’s not my dad!’

God’s eyes lit up in merriment and She couldn’t suppress a giggle.

_Oh, Her next brunch with Lucy would be so much fun._

Adam lifted his gaze when he heard the giggle. He was fixing God with the most serious look a sixteen-year-old could muster.

‘_Oh_,’ he said.

‘Hello, Adam,’ God replied. ‘I do appreciate the name choice.’

Adam frowned. Warlock, who was also very quick on the intake, pointed an accusing finger at God.

‘You knew he was in danger and you did _nothing_?’

‘Whoa there, dear boy. I knew what was happening and I came. I had no idea about what blasted Gabriel and the others did beforehand. It wasn’t written. They were supposed to try and torture him in the bookshop. I have no idea why they started early.’

‘It might have something to do with me fighting the whole lot. I told you about how I punched Gabriel, but did I tell you about how I kneed Sandalphon?’ Crowley asked, eyebrow raised with a cheeky smirk.

No one was paying him any mind.

God and the Antichrist eyed each other for a long while.

‘You’re alright,’ Adam said in the end. Warlock was still not convinced so he crossed his hands over his chest and pouted.

‘And so are you, dear child.’

‘Whisky?’ Crowley pointed the bottle at the lot.

‘Yes!’ God and Warlock said at the same time.

‘Maybe, a bit,’ Adam added as he considered his options.

‘No!’ Aziraphale said but was outnumbered.

‘Aziraphale, don’t be a bore!’

‘I really have to agree with him on this,’ God said as She picked up the bottle and filled Her glass to the brim.

This was directed to Aziraphale, out of all people. _Well, angels_.

‘But they’re underage!’

‘Free will, Aziraphale.’

‘_But they’re underage_!’

‘They can have free will even before reaching eighteen…or was it twenty-one? I tend to forget. They have their own free will ever since they understand what will is. Even before of that, most times. So, do you kids want a drink – seeing as you’re underage, and all?’ She rolled Her eyes.

Warlock shrugged and extended his hand towards the whisky bottle. Aziraphale should have expected as much seeing as he was mostly raised by a demon. _An alcoholic demon, at that_.

Adam thought long and hard and also nodded, extending his newly miracled glass towards Warlock.

‘But it’s not legal!’ Aziraphale wailed.

‘Legal and good or proper are not always the same thing. Not that I’m saying drinking whisky at sixteen is either good or proper. But it’s their choice. And you know that choices always have consequences. Are you ready to face the consequences, My children?’ God smiled.

Warlock shrugged some more and downed his glass. Adam put his own glass down.


	60. The wager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did some reshuffling and the God chapter I was threatening you with 3 chapters later is now here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, ended up posting it as per schedule after all!

**Sunday. Two years and six months after the end of the world. 2pm.  
Ely Cathedral. Interior.**

What Raphael had told Chamuel more than a year ago still rang true. If God wanted to speak to you She’d make her presence known. She hadn’t tried contacting him at all in the past year. That was not at all uncommon. They usually met every fifty or a hundred years. But he was starting to get nervous. He knew Gabriel was a knob and no one liked him, but they _did_ fear him. So Raphael though that the bloody wanker might put his sick plan in motion much sooner than whenever God would next decide She wanted to pop in for some divine gossip.

So he had an idea. _Might as well try it out, see how it goes. There’s no harm in trying_. If it worked, then that would be good and if not…he’d have to come up with something else. He bit his lip in thought and did what no angel has ever done before. Which was pray. _Properly pray_. 

Angels didn’t pray on principle, thinking they had a direct line to God by default. Which maybe explained why God had had no contact with any of them for the last 6000 years. There was, of course, no default line since God had absolutely no intention of being pestered by millions of angelic thoughts all at once. If angels would have been a bit more prone to introspection and also a bit less high and mighty then they would have realised this ages ago and would have stopped taking the whole ‘oh, woe is me’ approach to God’s radio silence. 

Raphael went inside the cathedral and knelt in the front row of the pews putting his hands together and closing his eyes.

‘God, I know You’re out there. I don’t want to interrupt Your stargazing, I really don’t but I need You. Please, God. Please answer.’

‘Something the matter, My child?’ he heard a priest’s voice from behind him, but he knew better.

He sighed in relief and opened his eyes.

‘I’m so glad this worked. You have no idea how relieved I am that You answered.’

‘Why wouldn’t I if one of My children calls for me? You know I always do. Not that a lot of people call for me nowadays. Well, that’s not entirely true,’ the priest shaped being said as She took a seat on the bench next to Raphael.

He got up from his knees and he sat down next to Her. She had chosen the shape of a young and bespectacled deacon.

‘A lot of people call for me. Not a lot of Angels, though. And since I want to leave people be and accomplish whatever they wish for on their own accord, well…’

‘Nevermind people,’ Raphael interrupted Her.

She threw him a quizzical look. He was always cocky with everyone around but he had never interrupted Her in more than 6000 years of existence.

‘Look, this is rather urgent. Chamuel paid me a visit.’

‘Oh, how wonderful! What’s he up to these days?’

‘Nevermind that.’

Another quizzical look.

‘He came to tell me that they plan on Falling Aziraphale.’

‘No…’

There was a look of complete shock on the young priest’s face. Something very cold and very ancient flashed behind Her eyes for only a split second.

‘Yes!’

‘Who on Earth would want to do that?’ the deacon asked, dumbfounded.

‘Who do You think?’ Raphael raised an eyebrow feeling that his hatred for Gabriel for all of these years suddenly paid up.

‘No. I can’t believe it.’

‘_Do_ try.’

‘Why would he do that? It’s like the Hellfire incident all over again and he saw how that turned out. Thought he’d learn something from that. So what is it this time? What did Aziraphale do that he thinks Falling him is a good idea?’

‘Same thing as last time, seeing as that didn’t work. It’s because he tried to avert the Apocalypse, of course.’

‘Wha…..are they all _demented_? Have they even _heard_ of the Ineffable Plan?’

‘Well, everyone’s heard about it but no one knows what it actually is.’

‘Of course they don’t! It’s bloody Ineffable!’

‘Do You mind sharing?’

The deacon look-alike rolled Her eyes and groaned.

‘Fine. It was all a test. There was never going to be an actual Apocalypse. Because of the both of them. Well, not quite. They’re rather useless. But they did their best to stop it. Went against their own natures to do that. I talked to Lucy quite a lot about the whole thing.’

‘How is the bugger faring?’

‘Quite nicely, actually. He even asked about you.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘The test was about Adam. I wanted to prove a point.’

‘And the point was?’

‘That even if your father is actual Satan, if you get to experience humanity – proper humanity – you have it within you to change. You can denounce your origins and choose to do good instead. That there’s still hope yet. Aaargh, I can’t _believe_ they’re so stupid!’

‘I told you time and time again that Gabe’s a total wanker.’

‘You know what, Raph? Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt. Sure, Gabriel’s being difficult. But maybe the others will oppose it. Maybe there’s hope for Angels yet. Much like it was and will continue to be for humanity.’

He didn’t look convinced.

‘I sort of did prove that particular bit, didn’t I?’ She asked while shrugging.

‘People are one thing. Angels are something else entirely.’

‘Well, they do posses free will as well. I want them to use it. I want them to do what their hearts tell them to.’

‘You can’t mean you’re on board with this? Having him Fall, really? Promise me You won’t let it happen. I’d hate to see him Fall. Especially after everything he did. Please _please_ don’t do that! I know everything’s ineffable and all but _please_ don’t make him Fall!’

‘What? _No_! Of course I wouldn’t let him Fall! Who do you take Me for? He’s one of my proudest creations. I tend to care about those, you know. I only meant I want to see what the others choose. Gabriel made his decision. I want the rest of them to decide as well. I have high hopes about them. I think they’ll be steadfast.’

His expression changed from one of horrified pleading to one of utter delight. Not only would God stop Aziraphale from Falling but She would play her little games with all of the hateful fuckers that would sign that thing. He grinned widely like the cat that got the canary.

‘How about a wager then?’

‘On having an Angel Fall? You are many things Raph but I never thought that you’d be cruel.’

‘No, not about that. I had high hopes that you would fix it. That’s why I called for You in the first place. And You said you will, right?’

‘Of course I’ll fix it.’ He smiled widely at Her in a very ‘gotcha’ manner and opened his mouth for what was probably a cheeky reply. ‘If it comes to that. But I think it won’t.’

‘Then you are far more optimistic than me. Right, so if You’ll take care of everything and everything’s good and we have no more Fallen Angels on our hands, then how about that bet?’

She rolled Her eyes and tsk-ed at him.

‘Fine. What do we bet on?’

‘Oh, I think about 10 quid does it. It’s more about proving a point.’

‘Alright, so how does the bet go?’

‘I learned from Chamuel that they are gathering signatures. Gabriel’s after the Archangels. I know there’s bigger fish to fry if we’re talking hierarchy but we both know The Cherubs and the Seraphs act like bored board members. Heh,’ he smiled a little smile at his terrible joke. God snorted. ‘Anyway, they don’t give a shit, would sign on anything if it’s been cleared by the Archangels. More executive branch that. There’s no love lost between me and some of the others, but at least Archangels are doing some of the actual work. And we both know the Seraphim and Cherubim regard any work as if it was actual rings of Hellfire, the lazy fucks.’

The deacon corporation nodded while She rolled Her eyes.

‘Chamuel didn’t sign so he’s therefore out. I’m out by default. Let’s bet on the others,’ Raphael grinned widely at Her.

‘Raising signatures, really? _Very_ imaginative,’ the deacon drawled in a very unpriestly fashion, voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Awfully….’

‘Corporate?’

‘Quite.’

‘So? Any thoughts?’

God pondered for a while.

‘I think Michael will vote yes,’ God finally said with a sad expression on Her face despite Her earlier saying that angels would be steadfast and wouldn’t falter.

‘Oh, sorry, that one’s on me for not telling You. She already did. So I guess you were spot on.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ God said as She closed Her eyes and sighed. ‘Sucks to be right.’

‘Yeah, it does,’ Raphael said as he mentally congratulated himself for being right about Gabriel being a dick. ‘ Joph will vote no.’

God pondered some more.

‘Yes, you’re right. She’s too busy being critical about art. I don’t think she’d like the End of Days to acually happen because then who would comment on all of that contemporary nonsense.’

Raphael chuckled.

‘Ariel’s a no.’

‘Oh, _definitely_ a no.’

‘I think Azrael’s a yes.’

God scrunched Her eyebrows up and gave it some serious thought. She had half a mind to extend Her powers and probe a bit into the future.

‘Naha! That’s cheating!’

‘Fine! You got me. I think he hates Gabriel enough to say no.’

‘That’s the wager then.’

‘Just that? Seems a bit contrived.’

‘What can you do?’ he shrugged looking very pleased with himself.

The deacon corporation smiled.

‘Why Ely, though? It’s always Ely with you.’

‘What can I say, I quite like Ely.’

‘To the point that it is the only church you ever visit.’

‘It’s a nice church,’ Rapahel said, his eyes lingering on a newly arrived visitor. A strawberry-blonde beauty, he noted.

She smiled widely at him and he winked at her in return.

‘Do keep it in your pants,’ God said, ‘We’re in a church, after all.’

‘Doesn’t mean much, now does it, since I’m actually talking to You face to face.’

‘Appearances sake, I guess.’

‘Screw appearances.’

‘Why Ely, Raph?’

‘Think of it as me being a sentimental son of a bitch.’

God frowned at being called a bitch the third time in less than ten years.

‘Do surprise me,’ She said instead.

‘Well, since I helped build it, I guess.’

‘Divinely inspired. Nice.’

‘No, I actually helped build it. Carried slabs of stone and everything.’

‘Don’t tell me, you were trying to impress a gal.’

‘A bloke, actually. No need to be narrow-minded.’

God threw a side glance to the strawberry-blonde young woman.

‘At least please tell Me you aren’t going to shag her in a fucking church.’

‘Fingers crossed,’ Raphael smiled widely.

God groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I was optimistic yet again with the chapter count. We're reaching 70 now, I think. I really don't know by this point. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	61. Another thing Warlock said springs to mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley has a bit of a shitfit about breathing salts. And a certain angel's Fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With each new chapter I post I grow sadder and sadder that this is going to end soon. It's been a fun ride for the last six months, what can I say...

**Saturday. Five years and six months after the end of the world. 5pm.  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

‘You could have tried harder, is all I’m saying,’ Crowley said as he raised his hands in defeat.

Aziraphale’s stubbornness about being proper had won in the end and they were sat down in the cramped kitchenette huddled around the table while the angel busied himself preparing some hot chocolate for the boys. Crowley held on to the whisky bottle, conveniently miracled full again. _Well, half full_. He wasn’t just holding on to it for the sake of having something to hold on to.

‘Well, everything happened in a blur.’

‘You do have breathing salts! I know you have breathing salts! What possible reason you would have to own something like that is beyond my power of comprehension. But just this once you could have made use of them and you didn’t! I only have you to tell me stories about it now.’

‘You were the one to faint, darling. I had no say in that.’

‘_Of course_. Blame a demon if he faints the first time he sees God in more than 6000 years, why don’t you?’

‘There’s no need to be like that, my dear.’

‘Oh but there is! Having God yell Her heart out at Gabriel would have kept me warm for a thousand nights to come!’

‘I suppose you only have me for that now,’ Aziraphale said with a glint in his eye.

‘Now, don’t be crass. Not in front of the kids!’

‘I never! Why would you even _assume_ such a thing?’ Aziraphale intoned in mock shock while he threw him what Crowley could only describe as bedroom eyes.

‘I’m sixteen, you know,’ Adam grumbled from across the table.

‘Don’t bother,’ Warlock told him.

‘And that you are, dear boy.’

‘Like I said, don’t bother.’

God had left maybe half an hour ago after She had made sure that the second bottle was also completely finished.

She had also made a small amendment to Aziraphale’s Summoning circle, changing one of the symbols just a tad so that they could reach Her directly and not go through all of that Metatron nonsense.

He wiggled a bit in appreciation and She thought this was as good of a time as any to embarrass him just a tad.

‘There,’ She said, ‘this way you get to Summon Me when you actually intend to do so, not during your more…intimate pursuits.’

Crowley burst out laughing while Aziraphale turned a deep purple and tried to stammer something in reply but came up short.

Warlock and Adam eyed each other speculatively and decided at the same time that that was a can of worms they most definitely didn’t want to open.

That had been half an hour ago and Crowley’s mind was too occupied with the idea that God had actually spoken to him to be able to concentrate on anything else. But now it ran free and imagined any and all scenarios regarding Aziraphale and the other angels. And what those angels wanted to do to him.

‘Oh, and also, didn’t I tell you? About the Fall? Good _God_, angel! How could you have been so _stupid_?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Crowley eyed the two boys and mentally decided that sixteen was adult enough and then went on a long tirade. _Or at least tried to._

‘I told you we shouldn’t do…whatever it was you wanted to do because then you would definitely Fall!’

‘Sex,’ Warlock intoned, deadpanned. ‘He wanted you two to have sex.’

‘Mngh.’

‘That’s as good of a confirmation as any. You know you tend to do the weird consonants thing whenever you get flustered?’

‘Nnnnh.’

‘There you go.’

‘Darling, are you quite alright?’

It was Crowley’s turn to suddenly resemble an aubergine. 

‘I knew about the Fall bit for a while,’ Aziraphale confessed as he drew a deep breath. He knew what would follow would be an absolute shitshow. He was ready for it.

‘You _WHAT_?’

‘Well, I got the next set of Prophecies from Anathema a week after the failed Apocalypse and I figured some of it out.’

‘And when exactly were you planning on telling me this?’

‘Well, judging by your reaction, frankly, never.’

‘Can you guys believe this?’ Crowley turned to Warlock and Adam.

Adam shook his head. Warlock grinned impishly.

‘He just wanted to get in your pants first.’

‘Shut up, War. Also, angel, I’m very pissed at you right now!’

‘Nothing that a little make-up sex won’t solve,’ Warlock snorted.

‘Like I said - shut up, War.’

‘Well, I knew you’d react like this so I didn’t want you fretting.’

‘We are talking about your literal Fall from grace, angel.’

‘Yes?’

‘Over bloody sex!’

‘Yes?’

‘Why would you ever think that’s worth it?’

Aziraphale threw him a rather put out look and adjusted his bow tie.

‘I thought it was altogether worth it, but if you thought differently…’ he trailed off, by now all pretence about not talking about sex in front of sixteen years old long gone. _It was never a good pretence to start with._

‘You know that’s not what I meant. But, angel, you were willing to Fall…’

‘I fell a long time ago, dear. For you.’

‘_Gah_,’ Warlock rolled his eyes and mimicked throwing up. ‘That’s about the sappiest thing I’ve heard like ever.’

‘War,’ said Crowley with a hard to decipher look on his face, ‘I really hate to repeat myself, but shut the fuck up.’

He got up from the table, took three steps forward and gathered Aziraphale in his arms.

‘I still can’t believe you were stupid enough to risk Falling because of that. God, I love you so much. But that was _really_ bloody stupid.’ 

‘Adam, d’you wanna go for ice-cream or something? This is too sappy for me, sorry.’

‘Myeah, alright.’

They didn’t say their goodbyes since they probably wouldn’t even get acknowledged anyway.

‘Sorry, my dear. I should have told you. But I know how you tend to over-dramatise things and I really wanted to – as War put it – get in your pants.’

Crowley instantly stopped hugging him and drew back, hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders. He looked quizzically at his face. Aziraphale was grinning.

‘You fucking sly bastard. Whatever am I going to do with you?’

‘Well…. another thing Warlock said springs to mind.’

Crowley threw his head back and started laughing.

Then the door of the bookshop locked itself out of its own accord. Or at least that’s what the door thought.


	62. The Heavenly Host

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the angels get all they bargained for. And then some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, good people!
> 
> Sorry for the long wait. I could lie to you about how work was a drag and the like, but it's actually because I shamelessly spent quite a lot of time writing on the other fic. I could also say sorry about that - but that would also be lying. While this thing is at its end and I just have to wrap up certain plot-points (plot, what plot? - I know, I know) the other thing is in its infancy and requires a lot of time and consideration on my part in order for it to pan out just right.
> 
> Have some more God. Hope you enjoy!

**Unspecified point of time because well, Heaven.  
Heaven.**

Here She was. At the Pearly Gates. Except they looked very modern now – all glass and stainless steel. She didn’t much care for what they’ve done with the place. She also wasn't particularly fond of the fact that Peter was apparently on a smoke break. 

_Well then, time to get on with it_. She drew a deep breath and stepped through.

The white expanse before Her was filled to the brim with Angels. Some were of the old-school variety, still bearing 4 heads and eight wings but those were mostly the Seraphs and Cherubs and they’ve been known to be slightly disinterested in the ways of the World since the very beginning. The others adopted a more corporate look that frankly was just as unsettling.

‘Alright good people, gather round. I want to start by saying I’m disappointed in all – and I mean _all_ of you.’

They winced collectively.

‘Of course, some of you are a bit more responsible than others, spreading lies and false tales about a war with Hell.’ She eyed the Metatron for quite a long time. ‘But you all let it slide and were complacent.’

‘Not all of us were on board with it, You know,’ a clearly suicidal Angel yelled from out back.

There were quite a number of shuffling feet and nods in agreement after that.

‘Good on you! I’ll even give you a gold star. So what did you _do_ about it?’

‘I did send a strongly worded note,’ another equally suicidal Angel declared.

‘Strongly worded notes. I see.’

There was a heavy pause after that.

‘We are not a Fortune 5000 company, now are We?’

Another hundred thousand nods. Millions of eyes were kept very pointedly downwards. It helped if you considered that the Seraphs and the Cherubs had eight eyes each.

‘Of course We’re not! We’re bloody Heaven!’ God bellowed. ‘And frankly that description is far more apt than I intended it to be.’

Her eyes roamed the ranks looking for the Archangels.

Gabriel gulped. Michael shuffled slightly behind him.

But it wasn’t any of them that She wanted to have words with for now.

‘Chamuel. _He who sees God_. Do you?’

‘Um…’ he started, confused.

‘Do you truly see Me, Chamuel?’

‘Well, I…’ he stammered.

‘Because I thought I was being rather clear when I appointed someone to be the Archangel of _fucking Peace_!’

‘I tried, I really did. I even went and saw -’

‘Raphael. I am aware. A little too late, don’t you think? Could have tried pulling your weight 4000 years ago.’

Chamuel had the decency to look guilty.

‘Maybe it should have been you out there at that airbase, no?’

He squirmed.

‘Maybe you should have tried harder. Maybe not send strongly-worded bloody notes. Maybe throw a fit. Maybe rally Angels to your side. Maybe _bloody do something_!’

Chamuel’s eyes darted towards Ariel, so God’s followed suit.

‘Yes. Exactly. Ariel’s the only blasted Angel out of you lot that actually deserves to be called that! And what did you do to her? Torture her? Take away her powers? How _DARE_ you?’

God hadn’t bothered to change appearance when She first arrived at the Pearly Gates since She was rather distracted with restructuring an organisation with 10 million employees, so She started Her discourse still looking very much like a quaint old grandma. 

That would have been hilarious to observe – _from an outsider’s point of view, that is_. For the army of Angels, it was anything but that. But then She started getting properly riled up so She was looking less cute grandma and more ray of blinding light.

‘And then another one of you had the decency to stand up for humanity – for _My_ creation – and what did you lot think of doing? Kill him in Hellfire. Bloody _Hellfire_ in the middle of Heaven for trying his best to protect what I built, you utter _bastards_!’

She drew a deep breath as She continued.

‘What has you all so riled up for violence? For war? For destruction? Who came up with the bloody Flood? The plagues in Egypt? The blasted Holy Wars? What was so holy about those? Was it the millions of innocent lives that perished? I mean, there’s sound logic behind that, of course,’ She said, voice dripping with sarcasm, ‘all of their souls got to Heaven, didn’t they? Through _NO_ choice of their own! And there _always_ has to be a choice! That was the whole point from the very beginning! Each one of you lot made yours. I hope you can live with it. But remember – there’s always consequences.’

She cleared Her throat.

‘You choose to see Me as a vengeful God. _Good_. Then I’ll be one.’

She changed shape yet again to Her original one, the one none of the Angels had seen since Creation itself. It was beautiful but at the same time completely terrifying.

‘Raphael, Jophiel, Azrael, Chamuel and Ariel. You’re all delegated to Earth indefinitely. Ariel, you’ll be restored to your full powers – make sure you make the most out of that – I know you want to. Chamuel, I expect you to do something befitting your station this time around. There’s plenty of places that need you. Jophiel, continue what it is you’re doing but for the love of…Me, I guess, stop being so critical about everything. Azrael…I don’t even know what to tell you. Just do whatever it is you do. But I want weekly reports. I’ll make sure to read them all, this time around. Oh, and Raphael – more healing and less champagne drinking in the middle of the fucking day. I would also ease up on the one-night stands. Gets in the way of the healing business, that.’ 

Chamuel threw him a loaded look. Raphael ignored it since he wasn’t the only one being reprimanded.

‘Seraphim, Cherubim – you’re all stripped of your positions. No more circles of fire, myriad eyes and bunches of wings. You’re all to use an Earthly corporation from now on till whenever I see fit. And that telephone line will be functional at all hours or there will be literal Hell to pay.’

The Seraphs and Cherubs grumbled and it was quite a hubbub considering the four heads on each.

‘Peliel, step closer,’ She focused eyes of pure light on him.

‘Yes Lord?’

‘You did good. Sometimes inaction is better than action. Still, you might want to keep your people in check.’

He nodded and bowed while he fought back a shiver.

‘Raziel,’ She continued.

He also stepped forward and bowed and even trembled just a little.

‘You also did good. But, in your case, inaction came out of laziness and sloth. I expect all of those reports filled by the end of the month.’

He cursed under his breath – which stung a lot, but nodded anyway.

‘Pravuil,’ She intoned with the voice of galaxies exploding into dust.

_Oh shitshitshitshitshit!_ was all Pravuil could think of while she stepped forward, waiting to be smote. 

‘You’ve done well, keeping them at bay for however long it took. You appear to like the humans – or at least, their inventions. I would give you a commendation if it wasn’t for the fact that you spent most of your time lazying on the job. I think that's enough internet for now. Also, I love what you did with your hair.’

Pravuil nodded with a smirk and accepted her minor – very _very_ minor punishment with good grace.

‘I’ll have a talk with the others as well, but for now, Gabriel, Michael, I want you to listen to me closely.’

Their eyes sprung up only to meet the most ethereal creature out there. She was as tall as the room and shone more brightly than the sky – not that it much inconvenienced Angels in seeing Her- and She looked like the most beautiful being put upon this Earth.

That’s why they feared Her so much.

‘There’s better Angels than you in Hell.’

Gabriel gasped as Michael scoffed. _That was low._

‘There never!’ Michael intoned, shocked.

‘There are.’ God plainly stated and mere moments later Lucifer appeared from behind Her.

‘Hello Mike! Hi all.’

God threw him a loving gaze and even brushed his cheek.

‘_You_? What are _you_ doing here?’

‘Got myself an invite,’ stated the slim blonde now occupying the Hall.

‘Couldn’t be here without one, isn’t that right, Mum?’

The Angels were in a frenzy. The Lord of Hell should not infiltrate their stronghold so.

‘Hi, Lucy, nice to see you again! It’s been a while.’

Lucifer squirmed a bit at that.

‘Lucy?’ Raphael was on the verge of making a funny comment but then God’s eyes were fixed on him and he had the good grace of shutting up.

‘Hello, guys! Miss me?’

‘Lucy, don’t be petty!’ God said.

‘Sorry, Mum. I just wanted to greet my brothers and sisters properly.’

Raphael, Jophiel and Chamuel were looking at him in awe. He looked the same as he did back in Heaven. Blonde locks, but nowadays cut short - as was the fashion, and grey-blue eyes that seemed to look into your very soul. He was clad in a form-fitting black suit.

Ariel tried to extend a hand to him.

‘Oh, Ari – you were always the best out of the bunch,’ he smiled widely with incisors that seemed longer than necessary.

Azrael smiled back at him.

‘Az, darling. I always thought you would fit better with my lot.’

‘You know, I always thought I did, too.’

‘Good to see we’re on the same page.’

‘You can if you like. As I’ve said – it’s always about choice,’ God declared.

Azrael threw Her a doubtful look, but then his gaze was firmly locked on Lucifer’s.

Lucifer smiled some more at all of them, starting with God and ending with Gabriel and Michael.

‘I think maybe you should have a little trip Downstairs, the both of you. No, the three of you,’ She said as She looked at the Metatron.

‘You mean to Fall us?’ Michael asked in a daze.

‘No no. I would never do such a thing – unlike you lot. Just arranging a short trip.’

‘If this entails any torture chambers -’

‘I wouldn't do that, Gabriel. Only your lot thinks of things like that. No. I have something altogether ironic put aside.’ 

‘So what is it?’

‘Well, since you consider demons to be something to be crushed under the sole of your shoe and also consider everyone who has any ties with Hell on the same level…let’s see how your fellow colleagues embrace you after a year Downstairs.’

‘No!’

‘Yes.’

'Not to mention you'd be walking Hell's halls as proper angels. Does weird things to a demon seeing angels after such a long time. _Yikes_!' Lucifer felt the need to add.

Gabriel and Michael shuddered. The Metatron drew up to his full form. It would have been impressive if it wasn’t before God Herself.

‘I really don’t think You want to do that’, he said.

‘I really don’t think you know anything about what I want, judging by your latest exploits,’ She commented as She waved a hand to Lucifer. ‘I don’t think any of you knows Me at all.’

She gave them a very pleased smile. It was horrible.

‘But you will. _Oh_, you will.’

The trio looked at her with a terrified look in their eyes as the lesser Angels made a point out of vacating the space as soon as possible.

‘Uriel, Sandalphon, stay a while,’ She said as She saw their forms retreat. ‘And also all of you who signed their names on that petition. You know who you are and you should know better than leaving now if you realise what’s best for you. We’ll be having some words in a minute. But now, Lucy -’

‘Please stop calling me that.’

‘Spoils the whole fun, doesn’t it?’ She asked with a hint of a grin – if eternal and metaphysical beings of immense power could even do that. She did, regardless.

‘Talk to the people downstairs. Gather them up. I want to have a word.’

‘You never mentioned anything like that! It’s going to be a bloody revolution!’

‘I’m sure it won’t come to that.’

He looked dubious.

‘I’ll _make_ sure it won’t come to that.’

This seemed to make him more at ease.

‘It’s actually Beelzebub and Dagon that I want to speak to more than the others. I plan to give them a commendation.’

‘You can’t! The others will tear them apart the minute You leave!’

She winked at him.

‘No they won’t. If demons have enough sense in them to fear a humble Angel, they’ll have sense enough to fear Me and whoever I instil My grace upon.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel protagonists, or at least mentioned:  
Gabriel – messenger Archangel. ‘The Strength of God’  
Michael - warrior Archangel. 'She who is as God'  
Raphael – Archangel of Healing. “The Shining One Who Heals.”  
Azrael - Archangel of Death. 'He who God Helps'  
Ariel - Archangel of the environment. 'The Lion of God'  
Jophiel - Archangel of Beauty. 'The beauty of God'  
Chamuel – Archangel of Peace. ‘He who sees God’  
Pravuil – Angel in charge of the records of Heaven  
Sandalphon – giant Angel whose name means 'co-brother' of the Metatron  
Uriel – great Angel whose name means 'God is my light'  
Raziel – Angel chief over the Thrones  
Peliel – Angel who rules the Virtues  
Lucifer – fallen Angel. 'Bearer of light.'
> 
> The deliberate use of 'angels' instead of 'Angels' on Lucy's part is really really deliberate.
> 
> Lucy is the same Lucifer from Neil's comics, as I have previously stated in the comments. A nod to you, my good sir.
> 
> Everything will be just fluff from now on because the bois deserve all the fluff.


	63. George V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the gang goes to Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that it matters much since our two protagonists never leave the hotel room anyway.

**Sunday. Five years and seven months after the end of the world. 8am.  
George V Hotel. Paris. Interior.**

There was a knock on the door. 

Aziraphale blinked in confusion a few times as he came to, the last traces of sleep a distant memory by now. 

Where were they? _Oh, right. Paris_. Maybe they shouldn’t have had that seventh bottle of champagne after all.

They had promised the Them – and Warlock, of course - a trip to Paris as a birthday gift to both Adam and War. Adam has insisted to go before Eve was born since he wanted to take his honorary godfather responsabilities seriously. Wensleydale’s parents were a bit weary about two unknown men going on a trip with their child so he stayed at home. Brian and his folks were in Spain at the time. _What was is with those guys and Spain?_ So it was just the two of them and Warlock, Adam and Pepper.

Another knock. Louder this time.

‘Yes?’

‘Are you guys up?’ Warlock yelled from the other side of the door. 

‘Good morning, dear boy! Yes, yes I am, come in.’

He glanced sideways – well more like down and to the side as Crowley’s head rested on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around the angel’s middle. He was basically just sprawled over him and Aziraphale had little chance of moving an inch. And since he knew that for the next couple of hours the demon would be all but dead to the world that was the only option if he wanted to properly have a conversation with Warlock.

‘Nah, I don’t think so.’

‘Please come in. I seem to be quite…um…incapacitated at the moment in the moving about department.’

‘Huh. Did you guys tie each other up?’

‘What? _NO_!’

‘Still, I’ll give it a pass. I don’t wanna risk it after last time.’

‘Nothing untoward is going on I promise.’ 

‘Are you decent, at least?’ 

Aziraphale frowned. He had always been decent. _Oh, right._ Fully clothed.

‘Yes.’

‘Okay fine. I’m coming in. But I’m screaming bloody murder if I come in and you’re not in a full three-piece suit.’

Aziraphale glanced down and saw that he was just in his shirt. And his bow-tie seemed to me missing._ When did that happen?_ He remembered brief glimpses of the previous night and at some point Crowley had tried being amorous and started to rid the angel of his clothes only to fall face down on him and start loudly snoring. He had even drooled a bit on his shirt. _Definitely shouldn’t have had that seventh bottle_, Aziraphale chided himself.

Warlock opened the door and stepped in, raised eyebrow already in place.

‘So, is this what you two do now? You never sleep.’

‘But Crowley does, dear boy.’

‘Yeah, I suppose. Listen, me and Adam and Pep planned on visiting the catacombs. Will you be joining us?’

‘What time is it?’

‘Half past eight, I think.’

‘Oh, Crowley wouldn’t get up until noon at best,’ Aziraphale replied with a dejected tone of voice. He really quite wanted to visit the catacombs himself.

‘You can just wake him up, you know.’

Aziraphale’s arm tightened around Crowley’s back as he hugged the demon closer to him.

‘I would never do something like that.’

‘You’re both saps.’

‘Indeed we are,’ Aziraphale smiled warmly as he looked at Crowley’s face resting on his shoulder and the demon started snoring yet again.

Warlock rolled his eyes and crossed his hands across his chest.

‘But so will you be when you meet the right person. Was no one that you brought over back to Crowley the right person, then?’

‘Um…what?’

‘Whenever Crowley came to sleep at the bookshop he told me you had people over back at his.’

Warlock furrowed his eyebrows some more and started laughing.

‘Haha, the idiot believed me. Nah, I would just go to his and play video games or watch some of those old spy movies he loves so much. That was more a ploy to get you two together rather than anything else. Worked in the end, didn’t it? Although I have to say I’m having second thoughts about it with you acting like you’re in a cheap sitcom all of a sudden.’

‘Oh hush, you,’ Aziraphale said as he started chuckling. This earned him a huff from Crowley who shifted a bit so that his face now rested in the crook of the angel’s neck. 

‘Shut up, angel,’ he mumbled as he shifted position.

‘Good to see some things never change.’ Warlock commented.

‘Well, it looks like we won’t be joining you for the day.’

‘Quelle surprise,’ Warlock intoned deadpanned. ‘Okay, see you two later. We all know you’ve been to Paris countless times so no one minds, but this is the first time for us and we want to make it count.’ 

‘Well, we’ll be here. You can just come in anytime you want. I promise we’ll be, as you put it…decent.’

‘Fine. Cheers.’

‘Do enjoy your day, dear boy,’ Aziraphale shouted at a closing door.

‘Mmm, angel,’ he could hear from his shoulder.

‘Yes, dear?’

‘Shut up and go back to sleep.’

Aziraphale smiled and kissed the top of Crowley’s head, proceeding to to what the demon instructed. 

***

He got up to another knock sometime in the late afternoon - early evening, judging by the way the shadows played on the furniture.

‘Yes?’

‘We have a problem,’ he heard Warlock from the other side of the door.

‘What is it?’ he said as panic gripped him. He had had a lot of moments when he would have an existential crisis after the failed End of the World. He glanced around and couldn’t spot Crowley anywhere. He all but jumped out of bed as the door clicked open.

‘Soo…’ Warlock started as he made his way inside the room, ‘we managed to get Adam utterly shit-faced somehow.’

Aziraphale was still looking around the room desperately searching for Crowley.

‘How the Hell did you manage to do that, War?’ Aziraphale could hear Crowley’s slightly amused voice from the bathroom. He sighed in relief.

‘Oh, fuck’s sake, Zira said you’d be decent,’ Warlock groaned from the small hallway that had a direct view to the bathroom.

‘And I do suppose he is. I never made such promises, so I shouldn’t be held accountable.’

Aziraphale fought back a smile. He got out of bed and joined Warlock in the hallway. Crowley was lounging in the bathtub. He had drawn himself a proper bubble bath.

‘Care to join, angel?’

‘_Really_? You’re doing this on purpose, you two!’ Warlock commented.

Crowley gave them both a satisfied smile.

‘Crowley, do behave. What was that about Adam?’ Aziraphale shifted his attention to Warlock.

‘Yeah, so, we managed to get him sloshed.’

‘How exactly? Did you use that fake ID of yours to buy drinks again?’

‘Nah, it’s even more stupid than that.’

‘Yes? I’m waiting.’

‘Gah, you sound like mom.’

‘We are supposed to be responsible for you three on this trip, you know?’

‘And you’re doing a stellar job.’

Aziraphale drew up and tried to do the same thing he always did when he wanted to be prim and proper which was adjust his bow-tie and pull at his waistcoat. Except he was wearing none of those.

‘We had a crepe eating contest. He wanted to have the Grand Marnier ones. I think he had like ten of them.’

Aziraphale threw him a worried look. Crowley started laughing.

‘Crowley!’

‘I’m sorry, angel. It’s just…the Antichrist getting bested by crepes…it’s a tad ironic that. Just let him sleep it off. Maybe he’ll learn the error of his ways.’

‘You’re one to speak, drinking copious amounts of whisky before noon as a habit.’

‘Again, demon versus human children. Just get him to bed and leave us be. I had some plans with Aziraphale for the day.’

‘You are horrible,’ Warlock muttered under his breath.

‘Also again – demon. ‘M supposed to be horrible.’

‘Fine. Just spend the evening doing whatever. I’ll take care of it. Amazing guardians you’re being.’

‘Should have expected as much seeing how we managed to actually lose the Antichrist all of those years ago. I don’t know what you believed we’d be like. Being competent is really not on the agenda here.’

‘Uuurgh! Fine! I’ll leave you be.’

‘Do make sure you close the door when you leave.’

‘_Crowley_!’

‘Angel.’

‘You’re being difficult.’

‘A given, surely,’ Crowley said as he got out of the bathtub. Warlock was gone by this point, door firmly shut behind him.

Crowley made sure to give Aziraphale the most devilish smile he could muster and then came out of the bathroom clad in Aziraphale’s tartan robe. _So that was where that was_. Aziraphale had searched for it the previous evening and came up short.

Then he made his way past the angel and threw himself on the wide king-sized bed, hogging the blankets.

‘Come back to bed, angel.’ 

‘We’re in Paris, dear. We can’t simply sleep all day.’

‘Why the hell not? Paris is still going to be here a hundred years from now. But this lovely bed might not be.’

Aziraphale was not convinced.

‘No need to be so domestic, you know. Well...we can try that back when we get to the bookshop. If you want…that is...’

He sounded ill-at-ease. And fidgety. And very unsure of himself.

Crowley managed to get slightly up, resting his weight on his elbows.

‘About that…’ he trailed off.

Aziraphale’s eyes were on him, wide and curious.

_Might as well_, Crowley thought to himself.

‘Check the pocket of my jacket.’

Aziraphale did just that, pulling out a small velvet jewellery box.

‘Oh, _Crowley_…’

‘Open it.’

Aziraphale did and there was a key inside. He looked from the key to Crowley and then back to the key with a confused expression.

‘What is this?’

‘Bought us a house. Doesn’t have to mean much. We could go there on the weekends. Or not at all if you don’t want to. Could rent the place and live off the money. Not that we need those money to begin with. Could just miracle it anyway. I just thought, well…it could be nice to have a place of our own. I know you have the bookshop and I’d never make you give that up, it’s basically your love child. And I have the flat but that never seemed like much of a home, so I thought that maybe we can have something together. You know what…forget it, it’s silly.’

Aziraphale had been rooted in place ever since he saw the small box, but Crowley second-guessing himself made him snap out of it immediately.

He placed the little box, key included on the coffee table and sat down on the bed, stroking Crowley’s cheek.

‘Darling, I would love moving in with you very much. A house of our own, well that sounds like a dream come true. Please stop being so wary about your wishes. I’m always here to support those. And I would like nothing more than waking up to you every morning in our home. _Together_. It could be something that does both of us justice. I could have a library for my books. And no one would want to buy them. You could have a greenhouse. Maybe not yell at the plants so much, though.’

‘I’ll yell until they behave themselves,’ Crowley grumbled, by now having his face buried in Aziraphale’s stomach, long spindly arms wrapped quite tightly around him.

‘Sharing a home with you,’ Aziraphale said, eyes a bit moist as he brushed his fingers in Crowley’s hair, ‘you do me the greatest honour.’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘It isn’t nothing. It’s wonderful. It’s you being particularly nice.’

Crowley grumbled something unintelligible.

‘Where is it?’

‘South Downs.’

‘By the seaside?’

‘Myeah.’

‘That sounds positively lovely!’

‘It’s not. It’s very…rural. You’ll get bored.’

‘I won’t. I’ll have you to keep me on my toes. And the books, of course.’

‘_Of course_,’ Crowley repeated on a slightly mocking tone.

‘I’ll love it. I’ll love every minute of it. Can I confess something rather silly, though?’

Crowley raised his head and eyed Aziraphale with an inquisitive expression.

‘Sure, angel.’

‘When I took that little box out of your coat I thought it was something else for a moment.’

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Oh, and what was that?’ he asked with an innocent enough look. That is to say, it would have looked innocent to anyone who hadn’t known him for the past 6000 years.

‘Well, I thought you were proposing to alter our…Arrangement.’

‘Whatever do you mean, angel?’

‘You fiend! Do you mean to make me spell it out?’

‘By all means, please do,’ Crowley said as the innocent look turned into a mischievous smirk.

‘Fine, I thought it would be a ring! Happy now?’

‘Deliriously so.’

Aziraphale huffed and tried to cross his hands over his chest. Crowley took hold of one of his wrists and gently kissed Aziraphale’s palm.

‘Might want to check the other pocket.’


	64. Little Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't know what got over me but then this chapter just sort of happened. It's too sweet and self indulgent for my taste but what can you do?

**Saturday. Five years and eleven months after the end of the world. 4pm.  
Jasmine Cottage. Interior.**

‘Could you please hold her?’ Anathema drew in a deep breath and then exhaled as if the weight of the world had been put on her shoulders.

_Well_, Aziraphale supposed, _it sort of had been, what with her having to deal with both her mother and Newt’s mother all at once_. And all of those other relatives. _There were so many of those._

‘Um,’ he intoned intelligently.

He held the baby entrusted to him at arms’ length with a look of utter apprehension.

‘Oh, give her here, angel. You’re clueless,’ Crowley commented as he took the baby from his arms. Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted to do was drop the baby or something. All of those people were already eyeing him warily. _Probably confused about why the young parents had chosen some unknown couple to be the godfathers of their child instead of someone from their own family_. In actuality it was because they were both men – _well, male presenting_ – and both Anathema’s and Newt’s families had a lot of very religious people in their ranks. Aziraphale didn’t know this and maybe it was a good thing that he didn’t.

Crowley thought this was as good of a time as any to head out to the garden, Aziraphale trailing after him, feeling a bit lost about what he was supposed to be doing in his new role as a godfather.

The other guests were milling around the two proud parents offering congratulations and quite a lot of unsolicited advice. Anathema bore a forced smile. Newt bore a very _very_ wary expression since he knew exactly what would happen if Anathema lost her cool. _And frankly, she should_, judging by the preposterous advice imparted on them. He nearly wished for her to lose it. Because he couldn’t. Or at least he didn’t think he could. He was quite surprised to find out that he absolutely could, some 10 minutes later when his great-aunt Beryl chastised Anathema for having a child out of wedlock.

‘Out,’ he said, quite unfazed.

Anathema’s head spun round and she was looking at him in shock.

‘Wassat, dear?’ his great-aunt asked.

‘I said out.’

He raised his voice so that everyone around the cottage could properly hear him. He was absolutely and completely enraged. They had gone out of their way to have this party happening. To fly all of Anathema’s relatives from the States and to make sure all of his relatives were amendable too. They had rescheduled it three times. And here they were, in his house – _well, Anathema’s house_ – but he had started thinking of it as his own as well sometime in the last 5 years, and commenting about their relationship and – he nearly wanted to gush – their child. The mild annoyance had started earlier during the ceremony itself when he could have sworn he heard some of Anathema’s aunts comment on Aziraphale and Crowley’s role as godfathers. It hadn’t been a pleasant comment. He kept mum. It had flared a bit later when he was sampling one of the wines and some of his own family, this time around, made a comment about how clueless Anathema was and snorted at her decision to not use formula. He kept mum some more. But to insult the love of his life and now mother of his child in front of him was something he would absolutely not keep mum about.

‘All of you with your unhelpful advice and your unwanted opinions – OUT!’

There was a loud commotion happening around the cottage. He didn’t care about that. Anathema was staring at him. He did very much care about that but he was afraid to look her way for fear of her reaction. She must be utterly enraged at his outburst. Half of the people leaving and looking quite affronted were her own relatives, after all. So he decided that staring at the floor was the best option.

‘Honey,’ Anathema said as she tightly gripped his hand.

He did look up at that and saw her smiling her widest smile at him. ‘Thank you.’

He was at a loss of words - not that it mattered much - since the next thing he knew he was being thoroughly kissed in front of all those condescending and backwards-thinking people that were quickly vacating the premises.

Anathema’s mother stayed by the buffet table and raised her glass at the two as soon as they stopped kissing and started looking around.

Newt’s mother wriggled her fingers and stammered.

‘Oh, my dear, perhaps you could have-’

‘Mum?’

‘Yes, dear?’

‘Whatever it is you wanted to say - shut it.’

Adam gave him a thumbs up and went outside to find Crowley and Aziraphale. _Well, to avoid an awkward family moment_, more likely. Pepper rolled her eyes and followed him but not before giving Newt a thumbs up as well. _Took him a fucking while_, she thought.

***

‘Crowley!’ Adam called out.

They were both out back and quite unaware of the commotion going up inside and on the street in front by now, to be honest.

‘Hellspawn. Boring inside, ain’t it?’

‘You’d be surprised,’ Pepper said as she drained her glass of champagne.

Adam was sticking to Coke. He didn’t want to repeat his experience in Paris. And he especially didn’t want to repeat that godawful headache. 

‘What are you guys doing?’

‘I’m trying to keep the little devil silent. I don’t want a rehash of earlier,’ he said as he eyed Aziraphale with a loaded glare.

‘It’s not my fault now, is it?’

‘You had to hold her for five minutes, angel. She cried for a full half hour after that.’

‘Oh, maybe that’s why those people were giving me all those funny looks.’

‘It’s not because of that,’ Pepper fought back an angry hiss. _At least they were gone now_. Or in the process of going. She felt oddly protective of the two supernatural and apparently quite oblivious entities in front of her.

‘Pep, they’re gone. It’s fine,’ Adam took her hand in an attempt to temper her down.

‘It’s not _fine_, Adam! Yeah, okay, they went away, but they’re still thinking all of that bullshit!’

Crowley raised his eyebrows at the two of them and sauntered off because he really _really_ didn’t want a rehash of earlier and it seemed that Pepper’s temper would not get under control in the foreseeable future.

‘My dear girl, what seems to be the matter?’ Aziraphale smiled at her reassuringly. 

‘It doesn’t help that you’re being this nice, you know?’

‘Oh?’

‘They were giving you weird looks because…_you know_,’ she pointed at him and Crowley.

‘Whatever do you mean?’

She sighed.

‘Completely oblivious,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘It’s because you’re both blokes.’

Aziraphale stared at her some more.

‘Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake! It’s because they’re hateful fucks and they think you’re gay. And that doesn’t sit well with them. One of them told Anathema earlier that it was very untoward of her to have a child out of wedlock. _To her face_. Newt lost it. They’re all leaving now. But they still believe all of that bullshit and it’s _not_ okay!’

She turned towards Adam with a slightly raised eyebrow.

‘No, Pep. I’m not doing that!’

Aziraphale glanced from one to the other confused. He realised what she was asking of him soon enough and hurried over waving his hands frantically.

‘No, no, please don’t do that!’

‘I’m not. Pep, the glare isn’t going to work on me. I know the glare. I’ve known the glare for a long time now. So no.’

‘But, Adam -’

‘_NO!_’ he replied maybe just a bit louder than actually necessary and for a second his eyes turned bright red.

She stepped back and gripped Aziraphale’s arm.

‘_Oh dear!_’

Adam was rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms and groaning.

‘See? That’s why I won’t do it. I don’t want to use my powers anymore, Pep. I hate them.’

‘But you could make sure that they don’t have such hateful thoughts anymore. It would be better for everyone.’

‘Today, maybe. How about tomorrow? You were the one who yelled her head off at me about free will.’

‘Yeah, when people aren’t awful cunts!’

‘My dear,’ Aziraphale placed his hands on Pepper’s shoulders. ‘Free will should be exercised in all cases. Not just by the people we like but by everyone.’

‘Why are you being this nice? The awful comments were about you two, you know?’

‘I can’t be bothered with some random comments from someone that I’ll never meet again. And might I remind you that choices always have consequences? There is a Heaven and a Hell after all,’ he gave her what was definitely not a very angelic smile.

_Right proper bastard indeed_, Pepper snorted. Crowley was right about that.

***

In the meantime, the demon wandered off as far as possible from the loud teens -_what were they yelling about to begin with?_ \- and he kept the baby close to his chest and tried drawing her attention with an ever so moving finger. ‘Ow, you pest!’ he commented at some point. Eve had started to bite on that particular finger.

She looked at Crowley with wide blue eyes. She resembled Anathema in everything else but she had Newt’s eyes. Crowley threw her a wide smile after he made sure no one was looking his way.

‘Oh, you’re going to grow up to be a cheeky pest. I’m going to make sure about that,’ he cooed at the baby, by now alone in the corner of the garden underneath an old oak tree.

‘She is going to be neither cheeky nor a pest,’ Anathema whispered in his ear.

He spun on his heels and threw her a questioning look.

‘Why would you have us two as godfathers if you didn’t want her be a cheeky fucker?’

‘Because of this.’

She gestured at the baby in his arms and at her enraptured expression as she was all but biting Crowley’s finger clean off.

‘Huh?’

‘You’re the best person I’ve ever seen interact with children. Okay, you’re a demon and all, but your aura is something very interesting altogether. And you’ve taught all of the other cheeky fucks quite a lot of stuff. I placed my baby in a literal angel’s hands and he was hopeless but look at you.’

‘Mmm.’

‘You’re a natural.’

‘Mmm.’

‘I could never picture anyone else as a better godfather, Crowley,’ Anathema said as she approached him and gave him a peck on the cheek.

‘Mmm?’

He cleared his throat and tried again.

‘Not what some of the other guests thought about the whole godfathers business, to be fair.’

‘You heard that?’

‘I have surprisingly good hearing. Demon and all.’

‘Oh, shit. Did Aziraphale hear that?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. He gets distracted easily. And fretful. Especially if you put a baby in his arms.’ 

Anathema burst out laughing.

‘I know, right? That look of terror in his eye made me want to ask him to hold little Evey more than ten times in the last hour. I mean, she’s my child and I love her dearly so I don’t want her in any danger, but _oh my God_, that look.’

Crowley laughed in earnest too.

‘I’m sorry for those people, by the way.’

‘No big deal.’

‘Crowley?’

‘Mmm?’

‘It is. _A big deal_. For me, at least. You two are very important to me and I don’t like people spewing hateful nonsense. Newt took care of it, though.’

Crowley raised an eyebrow at her.

‘Newt did _what_ now?’

‘I know, I couldn’t believe it myself. But it was fun to witness. Well, in the way that throwing all of your relatives out of your house can be fun.’

‘He did that because of us two?’

‘Partly. He sort of lost it when he heard a certain comment about me being a bit of a hussy. Well, it was heavily implied.’

‘Hell’s sake!’

‘This party has been many things but uninteresting is sure not one of them.’

‘Seems like I lost quite a lot of the fun,’ Crowley said as he eyed Aziraphale with a hand on Adam’s shoulder and the other on Pepper’s trying to calm down the two. _Or so it seemed like from the distance._

__

__

‘And to think that people actually expect us to get married!’ Anathema continued, ‘I mean, what is this, the 14th century?’

Crowley glanced down at the ring on his finger out of reflex more than anything else.

‘Shit. I didn’t mean to sound condescending. I’m sure you two will have a lovely wedding. It’s just…it’s expected of me so I really don’t want it. I guess for you two it’s the exact opposite. So go for it.’

‘We will. I hope we will. I hope to be good enough for the angel.’

‘You’ll do just nicely.’

Crowley looked down at little Eve who was still nibbling on his finger. _He would, wouldn't he?_

‘And maybe you’ll have an after-party without any unwanted family members.’

‘What, Heaven and Hell? That’s a laugh. They wouldn’t touch us with a ten-foot pole. And it’s not like we’re inviting any of those fuckers.’

***

Warlock came their way as he sneaked the Bentley’s keys hastily into his pocket. He was pleased to see that his fake ID worked at the village’s store since he wasn’t a very big champagne fan and other than that and non-alcoholic options the bar was severely lacking. The wine was already finished and he had to admit he liked cocktails more than anything else. He initially wanted to go towards Pepper and Adam but apparently Pepper was yelling her head off about something and he knew better than to approach Pepper while in a Mood™. So pestering Crowley it was then.

Anathema smiled at him and tousled his hair which earned her a grumble and then she left the two of them alone stating that she had to deal with Newt’s mother who had had a bit of a meltdown.

Crowley rocked little Eve slightly while trying desperately to make her give his finger up without causing another crying episode.

‘Is that how you acted with me back when I was young?’

‘Um, yeah.’

‘Fuck. I can never picture you the same way again.’

‘Changed your diapers for a year, as well.’

‘Well, fuck you for bringing that up.’

Crowley smirked.

‘That’s low.’

‘Demon, you kno-’

‘Shut up!’

Crowley smirked some more. 

‘You know what, I hope the caterers fuck it up at your wedd -’

Aziraphale had calmed Pepper and Adam down and was now a few feet away from them. He looked at Warlock with a hurt expression.

‘Oh, shit, Zira, I never meant it like that. It’s just that Crowley…’

Crowley smirked some more. Aziraphale couldn’t fight back a little smile of his own.

‘Oh, you’re just pulling my leg now, the both of you.’

‘Oh, my dear boy, what makes you say that?’

Warlock rolled his eyes, sighed and went to join the rest of the Them. Brian and Wensleydale would surely be better company than those two bastards. And he did have a nearly full bottle of vodka tuckered in his leather jacket.

‘Right proper bastard you are,’ Crowley smirked.

‘Learned from the best,’ Aziraphale leaned in to peck Crowley’s cheek only to be met with some baby fuss.

‘Never knew how you managed to get on with them so well.’

Crowley raised his eyebrow. Aziraphale pointed at little Eve. 

‘They’re little devils, the lot of them.’

‘Crowley…’

‘Always curious. Always asking questions. Always probing, even before they can properly speak.’

To demonstrate his theory little Eve bit on his finger. _Hard_.

‘Ow. You utter menace!’

‘Crowley?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I love you so much, you wily serpent.’


	65. Kindly, Fuck off!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am bored out of my mind so I had to post something even if it's some mindless, irrelevant bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending virtual hugs to all of you good people out there (virtual should be the only kind, at this point)

**Monday. Six years and three weeks after the end of the world. 11am.  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

Warlock raised his eyes from the comic book in his lap and inspected the newcomer with a slightly raised eyebrow.

It was a middle-aged woman with a haircut that all but screamed ‘let me talk to your manager’.

The woman started inspecting the shelves without paying him any mind.

He got up from the couch and leaned against the shelf she was perusing, arms crossed.

‘What the Hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘Um…browsing through the books?’ she managed after an irritated huff and she opened her mouth again – no doubt to chastise him for being rude.

‘Does this look like a fucking bookshop?’

Aziraphale had just made his way to the front of the store, groaning as he heard the little doorbell chime. He forgot to lock the door again it seemed and now he had to deal with…_urgh_…customers. 

‘Um…yeah?’ the woman replied nonplussed.

‘Well it isn’t, so fuck off,’ Warlock gave her a short-lived and not very humorous smile.

‘_What?_’

‘Can’t you see what it says right there on the door?’

‘Functioning hours?’

‘Oh, right, forgot to amend that. The fuck off sentiment is still there, sooo…’ he made a light shooing gesture.

The woman’s gaze went from Warlock to Aziraphale, expecting the kid to get a right talking-to. It wasn’t happening.

She threw the both of them an irritated look and was off, slamming the door in the process. Probably off to write an irate Yelp review. _Good_. The bookshop needed more of those.

‘You really need to stop forgetting to lock that door, Zira. I’m tired of dealing with people wandering in.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They’ve been coming in all morning while you were packing upstairs. And all I wanted to do was read my bloody comic. But _nooo_, people wanted to buy books.’

Aziraphale nodded, understanding the sentiment very well.

‘Miracle me a permanent marker,’ Warlock said, hand already extended.

Aziraphale, being taken by surprise, did so without questioning.

Warlock took the marker, took the opening hours sign off its little hook and started writing something on the door. It took a while since he had to do it backwards so it could be read from outside.

He drew back a few steps and inspected his work with a grin.

Aziraphale came nearer and read the new sign.

It read:

**This is not a bookshop. **  
**Fuck off!**

‘My dear boy, there’s no need to be rude!’

‘Ugh, fine!’

Warlock made a little addendum to it.

It now read:

**This is not a bookshop. **  
**Kindly, Fuck off!**

Aziraphale wanted to comment on it but he did share Warlock’s sentiment about not being able to get any reading done with all of those pesky customers around. And it did say ‘kindly’, so it wasn’t that bad. It _absolutely_ was that bad but he had spent the last 6000 years casually interacting with a demon and the last 17 not so casually interacting with both a demon and a child raised by said demon on an almost daily basis. So he let this one slide.

***

Four hours later when Crowley came to the bookshop he started laughing out loud even before he opened the door proper.

‘I gather Warlock was around,’ he said when he stopped wheezing.

Aziraphale stepped from behind a bookcase and rolled his eyes. 

‘Honestly. Only you two would find that funny.’

‘Nah, there’s tons of people who do,’ Warlock said as he climbed down the stairs munching on a grilled cheese sandwich. ‘It’s actually trending on Twitter.’

‘Hi War.’

‘Hyah, Crowley. Any idea when you two guys are moving? It takes Zira ages to pack.’

‘Well, dear boy -’

‘Whenever he reaches a new shelf he starts reading the books on it instead of actually putting them into boxes. It’s very annoying.’

‘You have met him. Of course he starts reading them instead of packing.’

‘I really don’t appreciate being made fun of. And in my own bookshop, I might a – _mmmph_ -’

Crowley grabbed his waistcoat and kissed him silly.

Warlock rolled his eyes and flung himself down on the couch.

‘You’re acting like horny teenagers.’

‘Care to share something, War,’ Crowley smiled impishly while Aziraphale was being a flustered mess in his arms.

‘Fuck off.’ 

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘What’s a Twitter?’ Aziraphale asked, feeling like he should say something to distract everyone from the current conversation.

‘Never worry your pretty mind about it, angel.’

‘I really don’t like it when you’re condescending, Crowley.’

‘Nah, he’s right. You can only write 280 characters. You’d have threads upon threads of stuff judging by how you go on. I say this with all the love in the world, Zira, but Twitter is not for you. You really have to see this, though.’

He pointed his phone’s screen at the two of them.

It showed a picture of the bookshop’s door with the new addition that Warlock had made to it scribbled in permanent marker all over the glass.

The caption read: _#life goals_.

There were tons of retweets.

And tons of people commenting on it. 

_Fucking finally! I’ve been over there more than ten times and never got to buy a book. That bloke is deliberately hogging them. Good to see it’s not a bookshop. Less confusing._

_If only I could deal with all of my customers this way. Retail sucks._

_I applaud the sentiment!_

_Who even buys books anymore. Hello, 21st century over here, guys!_

_Is this a prank? I cannot imagine the nice man running the shop writing anything like that. He’s a literal angel!_

‘Haha, they’re right about that last part!’ Crowley threw his head back and laughed.

Then he took his phone out and replied to that particular tweet.

_Not in bed, tho_ 😉 

‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale exclaimed when he caught a glimpse of the screen over Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley reacted to this by sticking out his tongue at Aziraphale. It was quite serpentine.

He then proceeded to type some more.

_5/5 stars_ 👍 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will get to the wedding, I promise! Sometime this century, at least...


	66. Wedding Jitters V.1.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The in-betweens before the actual wedding (which I know takes a while) - leave me be, you people. It's a difficult chapter to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) for all the wonderful beta-ing she has been doing on my latest chapters! And to FeatheredSnake (marmm) for the lovely ring design - don't worry, you will get your toga scene next chapter (I have even hinted at it in this one). Also - hopefully you'll forgive me for what I did with the rubies on your design - it was just there, sorry :P

**Friday. Six years eleven months and ten days after the end of the world. 6pm.  
Eden Cottage. Exterior.**

‘Are you sure there’s enough garlands?’ Aziraphale asked as he threw Anathema a pained look and bit his lip.

‘I’m sure it’s fine. Any more and you’d think this was the botanical garden. Not that it doesn’t look like that on a daily basis,’ she pointed at the garden and rolled her eyes. She was cradling Evey in the crook of her arm and rocking her slightly. Eve stopped trying to chew on one of her strands of hair and directed her interest to one of the colourful flowers instead.

‘Well, Crowley likes plants.’

‘Understatement of the century,’ Anathema replied as she gently swatted Eve’s hands and pulled the rose from out of her mouth.

‘You’re not being awfully nice, my dear.’

‘And you’re panicking. This is wedding jitters. Everything will be just fine. If he stuck around for 6000 years, I don’t think the state of the garlands is going to make him reconsider.’

‘Yes, but I want it to be absolutely perf-’

He was stopped by Anathema groaning and pulling out her phone, doing one of those things all young people nowadays seemed to be doing which is multitask, baby in one arm and phone in the other.

‘What are you -’

‘Facetimeing Crowley.’

‘Face wh -’

‘Hyah Theem.’

‘Hi Crowley. This a bad time?’

‘Nah, not at all,’ he smiled widely at her from someplace that looked very expensive. A lot of crystal chandeliers were hanging around.

There were some grumbles from somewhere behind him.

‘Well, Aziraphale here thinks there’s not enough garlands,’ she said as he rotated the phone in a large arc around themselves.

Crowley gasped.

‘Oh, angel, that’s _beautiful_!’

Some more grumbles.

‘_What do you mean I’m keeping up the line? Get fucked, mate! _Angel that looks bloody perfect. You’ve outdid yourself!’

Aziraphale smiled widely before realising this was supposed to be a surprise and Anathema had went and spoiled it at which point he pouted.

‘_Mate could you move?_’

‘_Oi! I’m having a moment here. I’m getting married tomorrow!_’

‘_And I’m getting laid tonight, at least if I can get to those bloody desserts and buy something!_’

The vendor was getting involved so Aziraphale urged Crowley over the phone to just leave the man be.

But he could see even from the hazy video a certain set to Crowley’s jaw. He knew that set very well. It didn’t matter that he wore his sunglasses. He recognised it for what it was. _A decision had been made_.

‘Crowley, darling….’ He was by now holding Anathema’s phone all by himself with both hands and a foot away from his body. In the same manner he would try to hold a bomb. _Or a baby_, Anathema commented.

‘Yes, angel?’ Crowley commented but it was clear that his focus was on something else at the moment.

‘Do behave, darling, please.’

Aziraphale could all but feel the demonic miracle buzzing just under the surface.

And then Crowley’s face split up into a lazy smile and, hand on one hip, patiently waited for the man to finish paying up for whatever it was he bought. It didn’t particularly matter. _He wouldn’t get laid tonight. He would get a stomach bug, though._

‘_The fuck you’re smiling at, wanker?_’

‘Heh,’ Crowley’s lip curled up even further, amused by a joke that only he seemed to get.

‘Angel, I really have to go now. Everything looks lovely. Stop fretting. _Yeah, I’ll have ten of everything, please._’

‘Of Crowley, now you’re overdoing it!’

He recognised those chandeliers and knew damn well where the demon was.

‘Look who’s talking. Our garden looks like the bloody Flower parade.’

‘You did say you wanted flowers.’

‘And you said you wanted sweets. _Oh, and I have this order as well. Yeah, the tall one. Angel cake_.’

Aziraphale smiled.

**Friday. Six years eleven months and ten days after the end of the world. 9pm.  
Mayfair. Interior.**

‘Crowley, stop fussing, for fuck’s sake!’ Warlock wailed from where he was sprawled over on the couch trying to beat Adam at some playstation game or other that they had seen fit to install on his TV for whatever reason. Adam was sitting crosslegged on the floor, not paying the others any attention and apparently winning the game.

‘You’re distracting me and therefore letting Adam beat me,’ Warlock wailed some more. From the way he was sitting he couldn’t even see the screen properly.

‘Nah, I beat you because I’m better at it than you. But seriously, Crowley. The first suit was fine.’

‘So was the second suit.’

‘It’s…what if he hates it?’

Adam sighed and paused the game, throwing his head back on the couch.

‘Crowley. You’re on your fourth suit. It’s fine.’

‘It’s not actually a suit – it’s -’

‘Maybe you should go for white tie.’

‘You think so?’

‘Are you actually considering wearing white? Wow. I thought the thought alone would discorporate you.’

‘Don’t be a little shit, War. Well, more than usual.’

‘I’m not. White tie would do nicely. You would even wear a bow-tie. Zira’d love it.’

Crowley groaned. _He would, wouldn’t he_, the bugger.

‘And anyway, I really don’t see what the great fuss is all about. You could get married in your underwear and it would be okay. Not for the audience, _obviously_, but it doesn’t matter for you two. Come on, only last year you were sitting in Paris and wearing fucking sheets.’

‘We will not speak about that.’

‘Oh yeah, better not. I think there’s a limit to the things I could witness about you two before I nope out and I think that limit has been already been reached.’

‘Shut up, War.’

‘But honestly, the suit is fine,’ Adam said on a done-for tone.

**Sunday. Five years and seven months after the end of the world. 9pm.  
George V Hotel. Paris. Interior.**

Aziraphale lounged lazily with his back resting on the headboard of the bed while Crowley was draped over him inelegantly, and, to be honest, a little out of breath.

Aziraphale stroked his hair with his eyes closed and a very satisfied expression on his face. _Or was it blissed out?_ It was very possible it was the latter.

‘So, how was that for the first time as a married couple?’ Aziraphale felt Crowley’s grin spread wide as he rested his head on the angel’s chest.

‘We’re not yet married, darling.’

Crowley popped his chin up and looked at Aziraphale with a confused expression.

It was only hours earlier that Aziraphale’s eyes threatened to pop out of his head entirely when he said on too casual a tone:

‘_Might want to check the other pocket_.’

Aziraphale drew in a deep breath while one of his hands instantly went to his chest and the other wrapped around Crowley’s wrist quite tightly.

‘Go on, then,’ Crowley offered with his most blissful smile, eyes almost ablaze.

Aziraphale got up on unsteady feet and made his way towards the couch where Crowley’s coat had been unceremoniously discarded. He looked up at Crowley again almost to ask for approval and Crowley nodded at him.

Aziraphale fiddled with his fingers some more before clearing his throat and fishing into the pocket. _And yes_, there was a small velvet box there. He felt his breath catch as his fingers wrapped around it and he took it out.

He had been so enthralled by the whole chain of events that he didn’t realise that Crowley had got out of bed and was now wrapping his arms around his waist, chin on his shoulder as he whispered in his ear:

‘So, angel, what do you say?’

Aziraphale turned around, the little velvet box sitting limply in his palm.

Crowley took it and opened it in front of the angel pressing their foreheads together.

‘Aziraphale, _angel_, will -’

‘_Yes!_’

The hug Crowley got would have probably broken a few ribs if he had been human. And the long series of kisses would have surely resulted in respiratory arrest.

It felt like an eternity later when they broke apart and Aziraphale stared with wide eyes at the ring in front of him.

Crowley took it out of the box and gently pushed it onto the angel’s finger. It was quite elaborate and was surely done on commission and Aziraphale had nothing to give him back. Panic gripped him only for a moment before he looked down at his signet ring and quickly pulled it off his finger.

‘I know it’s not as thoughtful and well planned as yours, darling, but -’

‘What do you mean?’ Crowley gasped as he examined the golden angel wings now residing on his own finger. ‘This is yours. Has been yours for as long as I care to remember. Which means I am yours.’

‘Mine,’ Aziraphale whispered as he leaned in for another kiss.

‘_Always_.’

That had been two hours ago. And here they were now. Spread on the bed _and frankly a bit peckish_, Aziraphale realised.

‘What do you mean we’re not married, angel? I gave you a ring and everything.’

‘Yes, but I was thinking we’d do this the proper way. A ceremony. And a party after, of course.’

‘Of course. Do you mean to carry me down the aisle or am I meant to hop around?’

It took Aziraphale a while to understand the meaning behind Crowley’s words.

‘Oh, no no. I’m quite done with churches for the time being. Maybe something private. Maybe in the house you bought us?’

His eyes shone so brightly that Crowley had a hard time saying no. _Well, he actually had an impossible time._

‘Whatever you wish for, angel. Always.’

‘I’d like there to be a buffet. With pastries. And cake!’

‘Of course you would. And I’d like flowers. As many flowers as the eye can see,’ Crowley extended an arm in melodramatic fashion and made the angel giggle.

‘And there could be a proper ceremony where we would wear suits, and we could exchange vows. And rings, again,’ Aziraphale blushed as he inspected his ring some more. It fit his finger perfectly. It was a dark alloy done with perfect craftsmanship and it was quite complex for how delicate it was. It had very slim edges and on the middle of the band carefully designed very elegant snakes that bore feathers.

He threw Crowley a very loving smile and kissed the top of his head. And in between the snakes there were rubies. He supposed he always associated black and red with Crowley. And rubies had always been a personal favourite of his. He remembered that time he saw the demon at French court back in the early 17 hundreds and how sorry he was that cold showers hadn’t been invented yet. But then he paid the ring even more mind and stared at it openly. Everything was done on a microscopic level so you couldn’t probably add the necessary green little leaf, or whatever would make this more obvious. But he felt Crowley grin against his chest.

He sighed, but even he couldn’t keep the faux-annoyance up for long.

‘The apples, again, Crowley?’

‘Told you, angel, always,’ he said as he propped himself up on the heels of his hands and his face was now inches away from Aziraphale and giving him his best rehearsed grin.

‘Whatever am I going to do with you?’

‘Oh, _plenty_ of things, I hope! Now that you’re making a _proper_ demon out of me.’

‘Shush, you. Tempting an angel like that.’

‘Look who’s talking. I’ll remind you that out of the two of us you were the first one to try to tempt _me._’

‘Succeeded, didn’t I?’ Aziraphale wriggled with a smug look.

‘That was my line.’

‘What’s mine is yours, isn’t it, husband mine?’

‘Don’t try to be cheeky with me. Also, you were the one to say we’re not yet married. So you’re still tempting me at the moment. Unholy thoughts and all of that.’

Aziraphale’s face lit up like it always did before he was about to perform a magical act and Crowley mentally swore at what would most probably happen next.


	67. When in Rome...well, Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oysters are to be had, room-service staff is to be bribed, and hair accessories get to be worn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, FeatheredSnake (marmm) - the chapter you requested. I hope it does your headcanon justice :D

**Sunday. Five years and seven months after the end of the world. 10pm.**  
**George V Hotel. Paris. Interior.**

‘Oooh, preeetty! Pretty lights!’ Adam giggled while pointing at the crystal chandelier.

Pepper crossed her arms over her chest and threw Warlock a-by-now patented Pepper Look.

‘He’s been like this for three hours, War.’

‘Dunno what you want me to tell you. I tried telling them. They told me he’ll sleep it off. And then shooed me away to go on doing God knows what.’ Warlock had his fair suspicions about that.

‘Pep!’ Adam called when he lost interest in the chandelier. ‘C’mere! I wanna hug!’

‘As nice as that sounds, Adam you’re quite drunk and smell like a cheap speakeasy.’

‘Don’t be mean. You’re always mean.’

‘Am not.’

‘Yeah, you’re prob’ly right.’

This was said as he got up from the armchair he was currently lounging in and flung his arms over Pepper’s waist nearly knocking her off her feet.

‘_War!_’

‘What do you want _me_ to do?’

‘I don’t know! Draw him a bath or something.’

‘Why don’t _you_ draw him a bath, you’re his girlfriend.’

‘Yeah, Pep, take a nice bath with me.’

Pepper closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. And then another one.

Warlock winced, fearing for Adam’s life.

‘If you weren’t drunk out of your mind right now I would punch you, you know,’ Pepper said as she tried peeling Adam’s arms from her waist.

‘It would be a good punch, too,’ Adam said and giggled some more.

‘War?’

‘Yeah, fine, I’ll draw him a bath! Just put him to bed or whatever. And keep him away from the minibar, _you know_? Like you failed to do three hours ago.’

‘Shut up, War.’

Warlock shrugged and went inside the bathroom. He started filling the tub when he heard a loud thump and an immediate _‘Oh no you don’t’_ right after. _‘Take you hands away from the minibar!’_

It was followed by Adam loudly exclaiming:_ ‘We’re going on an adventure’_ and the door of the room being slammed.

‘Ooooh, _no_,’ Warlock groaned and made his way after them.

‘Pep! Pepper! Trust me you don’t want to open that door. Who knows what they’re doing? Pep, I’m talking from experience, please just -’

‘Adam, open the door!’

Adam frowned a bit, arm flung over one of Pepper’s shoulders. Shifting reality while drunk was a bit of a headache. Then the lock opened with a click and Pepper flung the door open.

‘I need you two _“supposed to be”_ responsible adu- ’

‘Pep, I take no responsibility if they’re -’

Curiosity got the better of him despite the earlier warnings and he peeked inside as well.

They both stopped speaking at the same time trying - and failing - to comprehend what was happening.

Crowley was lounging on the middle of the bed with an ankle propped over a bent knee and with his head in Aziraphale’s lap while Aziraphale was…feeding him an oyster. They both looked up in shock at the three teenagers. But the weirdest part about the whole thing was that –

‘Haha, you’re dressed in sheets!’ Adam exclaimed with another giggle. Hiccuped. And then faceplanted on the rug.

Warlock examined the scene in front of him with more attention trying to put 2 and 2 together. It continued to add up to 22.

There were various open bottles of champagne. That he could comprehend. He knew they were alcoholics. _Okay, that part was dealt with_.

There was a room service cart with a plateau of oysters on it. _Alright, that he could comprehend as well_. Aziraphale was being Aziraphale and ordering the most expensive stuff on the menu.

What he didn’t understand were the sheets. His mind bluescreened.

Apparently Pepper was quicker to snap out of it.

‘A little hand?’ she pointed at Adam drooling down the floor where he had apparently fallen asleep.

‘Are we not addressing this?’ he muttered at Pepper under his breath.

‘Better not. I really don’t want to know. Do _you_?’

‘You have to admit all of this – _whatever this is_ \- is a bit much, even for you guys,’ he said on a normal tone of voice this time directing his words at the bemused angel and demon.

**Sunday. Five years and seven months after the end of the world. 9pm.**  
**George V Hotel. Paris. Interior.**

‘No angel, we are not doing that.’

‘Oh but it would be _so_ romantic! I can call room service. And order champagne! I know that’s not very accurate what with champagne not being invented by that point. Then again no one makes wine the way the Romans did anymore and, frankly, it’s a bit of a relief, all things considered.’

‘Yeah, the saltwater wasn’t giving it the best of aftertastes.’

‘Stayed with you, didn’t it?’

‘Hmm, yeah. Champagne is much better. Could go for some Krug.’

‘Wonderful!’ Aziraphale exclaimed and picked up the phone on the nightstand to call room service.

‘Shit, I just went along and got myself dragged into this, haven’t I?’

Aziraphale beamed at him.

‘Tempted me with alcohol, should have seen it coming, honestly.’

‘And with oysters too, soon enough.’

‘Bastard,’ Crowley pouted as he went to take a shower and let Aziraphale order whatever he wanted to his heart’s content.

He returned from the bathroom twenty minutes later and he put on Aziraphale’s tartan robe and his sunglasses. He knew he’d be the one to open the door for the room service, no surprises there.

And, sure enough he did open it, as Aziraphale was taking his sweet time inside the bathroom by now. A young woman pushed a cart with five bottles of champagne and two large plates of oysters inside the room. The cart also had two extra –

‘Sheets?’ he looked at her quizzically.

‘Yes, um that was an odd request. Do you want the bed remade? I could call the cleaning crew…’

‘No need my dear,’ could be heard from the bathroom. ‘Just leave them anywhere.’

The woman eyed Crowley warily probably thinking they were both having more than one screw loose. He realised what he looked like, dressed in a tartan robe three sizes too big and sporting sunglasses. Indoors. At night. And their order was rather strange. He made sure he tipped her generously and offered her his toothiest of smiles as he closed the door in her face.

‘Angel, what are you playing at?’

Aziraphale had made his way out of the bathroom and popped open a bottle of Krug by this point.

‘Historical accuracy, darling.’

‘He says as he pours champagne into a flute. No, but really, what are the sheets for?’

‘So we’d have proper togas, obviously.’

‘_Obviously_,’ Crowley repeated on his mocking tone. ‘I’m not eating oysters dressed in a fucking sheet, angel, don’t be ridiculous.’

‘What are you planning on wearing while eating oysters, then?’

Crowley looked down at the robe.

‘Oh don’t be ridiculous. Take that ghastly thing off.’

‘Ghastly, huh? I thought tartan was stylish?’ he teased as Aziraphale scoffed at him. ‘The nude it is then.’

‘As nice as that sounds, this would mean so much to me, darling. It was the first time we shared a meal together. A proper date, one might say.’

Aziraphale’s expression of hopeful pleading was one of the best in the arsenal of such expressions that Crowley had gotten to experience over the ages. _Pulling out the big guns, huh?_

‘Fine, angel. You always get your way, anyway. Don’t even know why I bothered putting up a fight. At least there’s quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol involved. And tone down the puppy eyes, for fuck’s sake.’

Said puppy eyes sparkled with joy as Aziraphale fussed around him draping one of the sheets over his shoulders and making sure all the folds were just right. And then proceeded to do the same with his own sheet.

Crowley opened the second bottle of champagne and started drinking directly from it while watching Aziraphale fuss some more in front of the tall mirror in the hallway.

‘We look like bloody tossers,’ Crowley muttered as he downed the bottle.

‘Nonsense,’ Aziraphale smiled at him as he went to open the third bottle. ‘You look absolutely lovely, as ever. And now, _oysters_!’

Crowley had extended a demonic miracle over the platefuls of oysters that continued to be just as hot as they had been when the cart had been first rolled inside the room.

‘So, how to we do this. Table? Let me just take the luggage off-’

‘Oh no no! We’re doing this properly. We have to lay down. Proper Roman dining. I would miracle some klinai but then the whole room would feel a bit cramped, wouldn’t it? So I think the bed would do just nicely.’

‘Mmmfine,’ Crowley shrugged and sat down on the bed, the whole evening having gotten quite out of his control by this point.

Aziraphale had placed one of the plates next to him on the bed and was on his third oyster already, the gluttonous bastard. Seeing him tip his head back as he enjoyed the oysters combined with those little sounds of divine bliss that accompanied all of his meals made Crowley feel the exact same way he had felt in Rome all of those years ago. Except he hadn’t known what that feeling had been at that particular time and he had left the establishment a bit confused and, frankly, itchy all over. He knew what it was now and all he wanted was to toss the oyster plate away and kiss the angel silly. But Aziraphale had said it meant a lot to him, so he sighed and put his head in Aziraphale’s lap looking up at the angel with a besotted smile.

‘Oh darling, you simply must try one,’ he said as he took an oyster and prepared to feed it to Crowley.

And then all Hell broke loose in their hallway.

‘Um,’ Crowley intoned intelligently taking in the picture of the three teens sitting (well, two teens sitting and one teen sprawled on the carpet, but that’s technicalities) with a confused frown.

‘Fix this,’ Pepper snapped her fingers at him and managed to get him to snap out of his daze.

‘Oh dear,’ Aziraphale was a bit swifter on the intake and had already rushed to Adam’s side, shaking his shoulder lightly.

‘Wossat?’

‘Dear boy, I need you to wake up. We need to take you back to your room and put you to bed. Can you do that for me?’

‘Donwanna. ‘s comfy here.’

‘Crowley?’

‘Yeah, got it. You haul him up by his left arm. I’ll take his right. Ready? Up on 3…2…1, oops-a-daisy.’

Warlock facepalmed.

They made their way down the corridor, Adam in between the two of them with his arms slung over their shoulders.

Just as they turned around the corner they nearly crashed into the young lady from earlier and her serving trolley.

She gave them a quick one over and decided this was the strangest thing she had seen since she had started working here. And she had seen a lot of eccentric millionaires in her last years of pushing trolleys around.

The strange sunglasses-wearing bloke sighed and pulled out a hundred euro bill from somewhere around his persona and placed it in her coat pocket.

‘Je pense que c'est mieux si ça reste entre nous, mademoiselle,’ he supplied as he patted her shoulder probably thinking that English would just confuse her right now judging by the look on her face. She nodded.

She’d wonder later where exactly he had pulled that bill from since she recognised the hotel sheets she had herself delivered earlier and she was sure they had not developed any pockets in the last hour. Also, why was the man carrying a hundred euro bill on him while parading the hallways dressed in a sheet? That was another question that bothered her some until she decided that a hundred euros was a hundred euros and it was best not to speculate. _But that was for later._ For now she just gaped at them like a fish.

‘Hullo!’ a blonde teen with the most angelic face she had ever seen smiled widely at her and looked down at the trolley. ‘Are those crepes? _Oooh_, I had crepes earlier!’ he exclaimed happily.

‘We _know_, Adam. That’s why we’re in this mess to begin with.’

‘Mind how you go, dear,’ the other gentleman with the hair that looked like a cloud said and manoeuvred the three of them around the trolley and down the corridor.

Some seconds later two more teens followed the two strange men bickering about something but she was not paying them that much mind to actually realise what they were talking about. And then they all disappeared inside a room. _Those euros were going to be put to good use._ She first thought Cabernet Sauvignon but then decided on something stronger.

Inside said room an angel and a demon were trying to put the Antichrist to bed while being berated by the only non-ethereal or occult entities in the room.

‘Proper guardians you are, the both of you,’ Pepper said angrily.

‘I told Warlock to get him to sleep it off. It’s just a bit of Grand Marnier. I didn’t know he'd be this sloshed.’

‘You could have checked. And it’s not only _a bit_ of Grand Marnier. While Warlock came over to your room I went to the bathroom to pour him a glass of water and _someone_ had a go at the minibar, _didn’t they_?’ she raised her eyebrow at Adam.

‘Was good too!’ he declared.

‘See what we had to deal with for the last three hours?’

Aziraphale miracled Adam a warm cup of milk and urged him to drink it. That seemed to do the trick as he quickly fell asleep. No one commented that he was on Warlock’s bed. It was just a miracle that he was in a bed, to begin with.

‘What even was so important that you couldn’t move your lazy arses a couple of rooms over to check up on him?’

‘Well, my dear, you see…’ Aziraphale blushed.

Warlock threw them a wary look and started to inspect the both of them suspiciously. He noticed Aziraphale’s ring first as he had the habit to fiddle with things when he was nervous.

‘No way!’

‘Yeah, well,’ Crowley cleared his throat.

‘Is anyone going to enlighten me about what the hell is going on?’ Pepper looked from one to the other.

Warlock pointed at the ring.

‘Oh. _OH_! Now I feel like a proper menace for biting your heads off like that. I was just worried about Adam.’

‘We know, my dear. Sorry for getting distracted and being awful guardians.’

‘Oh come here,’ she basically threw herself at Aziraphale and hugged him tightly.

Then she made her way towards Crowley.

‘I don’t do hugs.’

‘Shut up.’

The whole evening had been so downright absurd, _so what was one more hug thrown into the mix_, he supposed.

‘What’s with the fucking sheets, though?’

‘Aziraphale had the bright idea to reenact what he refers to as 'our first date' in order to celebrate.’

‘You were dressed in sheets for your first date?’

‘No, dear. Roman togas. It was back in 41 and I had been instructed to divinely inspire young Nero. Failed spectacularly too, when all is said and done. But I had the good fortune of running into Crowley. And we went for oysters. It was altogether delightful.’

‘Angel’s first proper temptation, too.’

‘I swear, you two…’ Warlock said as he facepalmed some more.

They threw him a confused look.

‘You know you could have miracled actual togas, right?’

‘_Oh_. Well I think I was altogether silly, wasn’t I?’ he raised his hand to snap his fingers but Crowley pushed it down.

‘Angel, you spent more than half an hour fussing over these. It’s fine as it is.’

‘I suppose it is. But I do want to make just a small adjustment,’ he smiled that particular smile that warned of things Crowley would hate and snapped his fingers. ‘There. Now I feel just like in Rome!’

Crowley closed his eyes and started massaging his temples as Warlock burst out laughing.

‘I really can’t believe how extra you are. Time and time again I tell myself, okay, this is it. This is the full extent of it. And then you go and do stuff like this. Thank you, Aziraphale, I really had to see this. Now can you please go do your thing. I really can’t be in the same room as that thing and keep a straight face.’

Even Pepper was trying her best to suppress a smirk. _Failing, obviously_, but giving it her best attempt.

‘Do our thing, yeah. Come on, angel.’

‘There’s still oysters to be had.’

‘And alcohol to be drunk. War, you’re a shit.’

Warlock blew him a raspberry and laughed some more.

‘Good night, my dears,’ Aziraphale said as he followed Crowley and admired the silver laurels on the demon's head with a cheeky glint in his eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the millionth time....I think I will update the chapter count. Goddammit! This time I won't be as drastic or as verbose, though. One, maybe two extra chapters tops.
> 
> Stay safe, you lovely people!


	68. The Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more Adam & Warlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...this chapter just happened. It was supposed to be something completely different but it got away from me and went off on a tangent.
> 
> I have no explanation to how this happened, it just did. I have no excuse either, but there you have it.

**Wednesday. Six years three months and twenty days after the end of the world. 3pm.  
A.Z.Fell&Co. Interior.**

‘Go away!’ Warlock yelled from the couch as he could hear a rap on the door. ‘You’d think they’d know how to read if they were so insistent on coming inside a bookshop,’ he said as he turned his head towards Adam.

Adam was carefully rolling the carpet underneath the oculus and looking around for candles.

‘You won’t find any around.’

Adam threw him a puzzled look.

‘Crowley threw a fit the last time he spotted a candle in the pantry. Lucky for you I plan ahead. _Really_ lucky for you, you felt like sharing the plan with me too, otherwise we wouldn’t make that much progress, huh?’

‘I could just miracle some.’

‘I don’t think big G would approve of that very much. Check my backpack, I packed a few.’

‘Thanks, War.’

‘Nah, don’t mention it. Really looking forward to see Crowley’s face if you manage to pull that shit off. Now shut up and let me do my thing. This playlist won’t make itself,’ Warlock said dismissively waving a hand around as he plopped down on the couch again and put his second headphone in, ignoring Adam as he placed the candles around the circle and lit them one by one.

_Crowley and Aziraphale really were a bit daft, weren’t they?_ He loved both of them to bits, not that he would ever confess that to their faces, but to insist on packing stuff by hand…that was the stupidest thing ever. Crowley had managed to convince Aziraphale to pack most of the stuff via a miracle, but there had been a line drawn at his beloved Bibles and books of Prophecy. Crowley had tried arguing about that too, but had no success in that department, not after Adam had asked Aziraphale if he wasn’t at all scared they’d get damaged. He had done so the previous time he had visited the bookshop. Warlock had thrown him a confused look and then cornered him to ask what he was playing at. Adam had never been as invested as Warlock had been in the books. _Oh, he did read, and he read a lot_. But it was mostly astronomy and the sciences. He didn’t give a shit about old books of Prophecy. _So how come the sudden interest?_

'Well, you see…' Adam started explaining.

***

Warlock had been there at the moment that that particular conversation had taken place so there had been no escaping the explanation on Adam's part. He was there nowadays more often than not since he had started avoiding his house like the plague after his dad found him in a bit of an awkward situation with one of his mates from school that had just popped over to play video games together one Sunday afternoon.

This was the tenth time that this particular boy was popping over and Thaddeus Dowling had wanted to meet some of his son’s mates that were not Adam and the gang (who he honestly thought to be altogether odd and who threw him hateful glances all the time on the rare occasions he saw the bunch). Not to mention that none of their parents were anyone of import.

What he had expected had been another ambassador’s son or one of the upper-class offspring of all those tightly-lipped people who sent their children at the posh school he had sent Warlock to precisely to make those valuable sorts of connections. He expected a firm handshake and maybe an invitation to those people’s next garden party via Warlock if the boy ever tried to be a bit less of a menace than usual and tried to play nice with other people. What he did _not_ expect was to find the two boys sprawled on the couch, snogging like there was no tomorrow while Warlock seemed to have misplaced his shirt somewhere during the process.

The shouting match had been instantaneous. Fortunately for the boys, Thaddeus Dowling set a lot more value on decorum than on properly talking to his son so he tried making sure that none of the security guards were actually witnessing this. Which gave Warlock more than enough time to gather up a couple of shirts and stuff them in his backpack, pull a T-shirt over his shoulders, grab a charger, his mother’s credit card that neither of them actually pretended belonged to her anymore, make another dash for his phone and then, grabbing his…._well, they’ll sort out whatever it was that they were eventually_’s hand and jump off the window.

The next two weeks had been spent at Crowley’s place.

Mrs. Dowling tried calling more than twenty times and each and every one of those times Crowley had politely answered, informed her that Warlock was doing just fine and that if she wanted to see him they could meet in Hyde Park. He didn’t want his St. James experiences sullied by any homophobic behaviours, _thank you very much_.

Mr. Dowling said he’ll sue and that this was point blank kidnapping. His wife tried to dissuade him of that but honestly, it was more demonic miracle than anything else how he failed to do anything about it. Crowley had a very _very_ straightforward view on the whole thing.

They did meet up at some point and Mrs. Dowling hugged Warlock for a full five minutes before letting go.

‘Mum, I’m sorry, I -’

‘Oh, shush. I knew what a shit you father was being the moment I married him. I must have known, otherwise I think I must have been very stupid indeed. You can stay with Crowley as long as you like while I sort this whole mess out.’

‘I…aren’t you mad?’

‘_What?_ No, of course I’m not mad, sweetie! Not at you, anyway. That bastard said he’d disinherit you as soon as he got back from the States,’ she snorted with a disgusted look on her face. _Of course he would throw a massive shitfit and then fly off into the sunset because the president wanted his pyjamas folded or something. Bastard._ She hugged Warlock again and caressed the back of his head, trying to smooth down his long braid in the process. ‘What he doesn’t know is that I have my own lawyer and that won’t happen if I have any say in this. He’ll be served his divorce papers as soon as he lands.’

‘Mum, you don’t have to do that!’

‘Honey, I’ve been meaning to do it for about five years now but I never wanted to do anything to disrupt your way of life. But after what he said two weeks ago…’ she muttered through gritted teeth and kissed his forehead. ‘You are my baby and always will be. No matter what you do or who you like to spend time with. And I will always accept all of your choices, you know that, right?’

‘Mhm, muuum,’ Warlock wailed as he knew that a couple of benches away Crowley was sitting down while pretending to inspect a newspaper and giving them both his undivided attention. Warlock had asked him to come with in the first place, not exactly knowing what the meeting with his mum would be like and, after the shouting match with his dad, honestly, fearing the worst.

‘I know, I know, I’m embarrassing you. I didn’t mean to do that,’ she said as she waved over to Crowley who raised the newspaper higher to cover his face completely.

‘You should have came to me. We could have talked. I am so very glad you had him to talk to, at least. And at some point, I’d like to meet this young man of yours. Properly. Without the yelling.’

‘Yeah, well…I really don’t feel like coming to the house right now. I’m sorry if I’m being a -’

‘Shhh, take as long as you need, honey. Won’t be our house for much longer, anyway. Not that I ever really liked the place. But at least promise me you’d call once in a while. Maybe we could meet up for cocoa? And cheescake? You always liked that.’

‘Thanks, mum. You’re the best.’

‘Doesn’t feel like it.’

This was his time to hug her back, completely giving up about caring how Crowley would tease him for it later.

‘You are! I’m sorry I ran off.’

‘If I only realised what a toxic environment that was for you, honey…maybe I’d have given up on the whole marriage thing years ago. You could have grown up loved and supported by all of your own family as well and not just some properly honest to God sent strangers.’

Warlock fought back a smirk. _If only she knew_… It wasn’t really hard to fight back the smirk. What was hard was fighting back tears as he burrowed his head in the crook of Mrs. Dowling’s neck and she kissed the top of his head for some long minutes.

‘I promise I’ll call. I will.’

‘That’s all I wanted to hear. And know that I’ll always be there for you, hun. Send Crowley all my gratitude. I’m not sure he wants to talk with me for the time being. I believe he thinks I’ve made a huge mess out of everything at the moment.’

‘He doesn’t. He just really hates dad. Said he’d break his legs if he ever saw him.’

‘Good. I have half a mind to do the same.’

***

So Warlock was spending most of his time at either Crowley’s or Aziraphale’s place when he wasn’t at school and even all of his trips there were done via the Bentley as Crowley stated that he will not lose sight of Warlock at any point as his father did still have a lot of security agents at his disposal. One had been sighted at some point lurking near the school. _For about five minutes_, that is. Then he quickly found himself in the middle of a field in Northern Ireland and one of the sheep there started expressing a very sudden interest in munching on one of his jacket sleeves.

Adam had been very on the nose about the whole bit, but trust Aziraphale to be Aziraphale about his prized books, so much so that he didn’t realise that Adam wanted him out of the bookshop and for a full day, at least.

Adam smiled widely as a little white light started descending in the middle of the now powered up circle drawn on the floor.

Even Warlock, for all his feigned indifference, sat up a little bit straighter on the couch and turned the volume of the music down.

Adam cleared his throat, pulled a bit at the T-shirt he was wearing although no amount of pulling could have straightened it up and looked at the bright light with the intensity of any teenager embarking on a mission.

‘Hello there. So, thing is…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This shit just got 2 chapters longer because of this chapter in particular that threw my whole plan out the window. I am deeply sorry. I can't seem to get it under wraps, it only seems to get longer and longer.
> 
> In the meantime, go and give [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) latest work a new read. [A Matter of Life and Death](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306977/chapters/55823788) \- it's such a beautiful story with a wide array of lovely angels - and seeing as you guys liked this one (or, I'm guessing you did, otherwise why did you go through 68 chapters of this complete and utter nonsense) I'm sure you'll enjoy it as well. It's still early in the making but it's a very touching work - and turning into an epic what with all of the turmoil in Heaven, and whatnot. The OC angels are something I am very much fan-girling about!


	69. Wedding Jitters V.2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hours before the proper wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took absolutely forever to write since it figures basically everyone.  
Hope you enjoy it - I am biased about the whole bit.

**Saturday. Six years eleven months and eleven days after the end of the world. 4pm.  
Eden Cottage. Interior.**

‘Would you please stop fussing?’ Anathema brushed some none-existent lint off Aziraphale’s shoulder then slapped his hand that he was trying to redo his bowtie with for what seemed like the twentieth time, to her at least.

‘It’s just…this is a bit askew.’

‘It’s not, and you know it.’

‘Maybe if I can get to see it in the mirror downstairs, you know, where there’s more natural light.’

‘You are not leaving this room and that’s final. God, you’d think having to take care of a baby was a hassle. Nobody said anything about 6000-year-old angels,’ she said as she rolled her eyes and turned the perfectly serviceable mirror in this room towards herself.

She was wearing a floor-length dark purple gown with lace sleeves and a tight bodice. It looked rather Victorian, but then again so did everything she wore. She inspected herself, gave a curt nod to the mirror and focused on Aziraphale again.

‘Don’t think you have me fooled, mister. We both heard the Bentley. And we _agreed_. Top floor’s yours, ground floor’s Crowley’s. You were the one who said you shouldn’t see each other until the ceremony.’

‘Yes, but -’

‘No buts. Now shut up and help me tie my hair up. It will give you something to do with your hands other than pull at that vest.’

‘Waistcoat.’

‘Whatever. Soon enough it will be fraying at the edges if you keep at it like that.’

‘Are you sure the tailcoat is alright?’

‘It’s more than alright. You look very dashing. I love the cufflings. And black rather suits you.’

‘And the reverend?’

‘All taken care of. Adam assures me his parents can wouch for him. Never much liked the fellow but then again I’m not much for priests. Pick-something or other the guy’s called. And at least he’s friendly with the old ladies around and does charity work so I suppose it could be worse.’

‘And you’re sure -’

‘Aziraphale, _please_. Everything is alright. Adam promised me personally.’

‘And the music?’

‘Warlock’s on music duty and I’m sure he’s done an amazing job judging by how important you two are to him.’

He seemed to calm himself down for a while as he braided Anathema’s hair but still kept biting his lip in thought.

‘Oh, and the food, I forgot about the food!’

‘I swear we’ll have a funeral instead of a wedding on our hands if you don’t stop fretting. Everything’s fine. Crowley is in charge of the caterers. The flower arrangements are more than alright. You heard it from the man himself. You look very nice in that white tie ensemble. The reverent will be here, the music is sorted out. Newt is downstairs on guest duty. Everybody should be arriving soon and you need to take a chill pill. And finish my hairdo.’

***

Downstairs Crowley wasn’t faring much better but he at least got to take it out on the caterers.

‘Not there, you imbecile, it should go on the other table! I made you a layout plan. Where’s the plan?’

That particular waiter shrugged.

‘Why did I even _bother_ drawing that, _hmm_?’

‘You know what, go away, all of you. You’re useless enough as it is.’

They all looked at each other a little bit unsure on how to properly proceed.

‘You’ll still get paid. Just go. You’re all useless.’

That seemed to convince the caterers well enough. Still getting their money and avoiding the unpleasant man all at the same time, that was the best possible outcome on this particular afternoon.

Newt approached tentatively with little Eve in his arms. He was still terrified of Crowley all of these years later but even he knew that he wouldn’t yell his head off while Evey was around.

‘That wasn’t very civil of you,’ he managed to blurt out.

‘I’m not meant…okay, can we just not do this?’ Crowley sighed as he took another look to make sure the catering van had driven off and then snapped his fingers and all the plates and platters were in their desired positions.

The plan had been this thus far:

He had loaded all the confectionery he had previously bought and Adam in the Bentley and made his way from his Mayfair flat to the cottage in the early morning so as to finish the preparations. Warlock had stayed behind saying that he’ll meet up with his mum who will drive them here and his mysterious date that Aziraphale had taken to calling his “beau” – which made Crowley chuckle and Warlock groan.

Newt had driven over from Tadfield early in the morning as well, with Brian and Wensleydale in tow since Anathema had made it quite clear that for all of her yelling about not spending the night over at Aziraphale’s without Evey, she would very much like her hands free for the big day, seeing as taking care of two babies was a bit much even for her. _Especially since one of them was 6000 years old._

Then the Youngs were supposed to arrive with Pepper. And probably the vicar. _Or he’d take care of his own transport_. Crowley couldn’t be bothered by that. Adam had told him it was taken care of and he trusted Adam.

All of the present boys were all smartly dressed in suits – _well, two of them were,_ since Brian had already managed to smear grease up on his shirt even if no one could tell what was the source of said grease as they had all been prohibited from approaching the buffet under pain of death. _And eternal damnation and torture and all of that._

Newt had also tried to make himself presentable in a blue navy suit. Too bad no matter what he did his tie was always crooked. That may have had something to do with little Eve tugging at it every so often. _But then again, it might have not_. That was just how things were for Newt in life.

Aziraphale had also invited Madame Tracy and Seargent Shadwell only to be met with Crowley’s grumbling protests. He didn’t much like Shadwell and after he heard about the fire in the bookshop being his fault he was practically livid about the whole thing and swore to himself that if he ever caught sight of the man again he would rip his head clean off. But then of course Aziraphale had insisted that Madame Tracy was a dear and they had shared a body, albeit briefly. They had been exchanging letters over the years since Crowley ranted quite vehemently about all of those things he would do to Shadwell if he ever saw him again. Aziraphale was sure he was lying but didn’t want to take any chances. And then there had been the couple’s move to the countryside in a quaint little bungalow. But Aziraphale was damned if he didn’t invite the woman to his wedding. And damned was not something he planned to be at the moment. He left that for his demonic counterpart.

There had been a short argument that had ended with Crowley pouting in the greenery while Aziraphale made him a nice cup of tea grinning smugly all the while. There haven’t been any arguments in their long history together where Crowley had been the victor.

Aziraphale had taken care of the flower arrangements and the seating the previous evening and Crowley had to admit it looked fabulous. _Alright, so it was a small gathering_, but the flowers were some of the most beautiful he had ever seen – and Crowley knew his plants well enough.

There was a canopy that hadn’t been there the day before, decked with pink and white crowns of roses. He sneered a bit at that and thought he’d have a word with the angel later. _Much much later_. There were round arrangements of stock and gloxinia and violets and peonies everywhere around the yard. There were fairy lights spread over the ivy hedges themselves. _Of course, they weren’t lit yet,_ but Crowley understood the message, well enough. And then there were the garlands themselves leading from the house to the canopy, carefully crafted out of lilies and lily of the valley, jasmine and…_orange blossoms_. Crowley cleared his throat and if one wouldn’t have known him any better would have swore that he rubbed his eyes for a bit. _Probably something got in his eye_, although that possibility wasn’t all that believable, what with the sunglasses and all. He looked around to make sure that no one noticed that and, realising to his eternal gratitude that Newt had gone inside to greet the now arriving guests and the boys were too busy fussing over some YouTube video or other that Adam was sharing on his phone, he lifted a hand to pick up an orange blossom and pin it to his buttonhole.

He had followed Warlock’s advice in the end and gone for white tie. He had no idea that that particular suggestion reached his ears via Anathema who had known for months that Aziraphale was going to go for that since he kept talking to her excitedly about all of his trips to the tailor and how perfect it was all going to be. Crowley did draw a hard line at the bow-tie, though. _That at least had to be black_, fashion conventions aside.

He could hear the first people coming out into the backyard. They were the Youngs and Pepper who, even if she threw Adam a sweet smile first, decided that the first person she would greet would be Crowley and tried to hug the living daylight out of him despite how much he squirmed.

‘Pep! Let go, you pest!’

‘Nah, you’re not getting rid of me so easily today, ’she said as she took a step back and eyed him from head to toe. ‘You clean up nicely.’

‘So do you. This is the first time ever when I’ve seen you wear a dress.’

‘Eh, a sacrifice for the occasion,’ she said as he inspected the black and white under-the-knee striped billowy dress she was clad in. She was still wearing converse but at least her hair was caught in an intricate braid and she was even wearing a necklace. That was indeed a huge compromise for her. Crowley smiled.

Then it was the Youngs' turn to come over and offer him their congratulations as Pepper made her way over to the three boys and punched Brian hard in the shoulder not even a full minute later after he made a comment about seeing her in a dress.

Newt was apparently inside again as the doorbell rang one more time and next thing he knew, Crowley was yet again assaulted, this time by a flurry of colours that loudly exclaimed:

‘Cooee, mister Crowley!’

He tensed. _Yes, indeed, Madam Tracy was a blast,_ but he really didn’t want to commit manslaughter on his special day. He had tried doing something about that via a small demonic intervention but he wasn’t sure if he nailed it or not. More often than not his plans came back to bite him in the arse.

‘Where’s the Seargent?’

‘Oh, up north. Can you imagine they announced a Witchfinders’ last minute convention in Edinburgh. He only got the invitation two days ago. Isn’t that odd? He had no idea there were other witchfinders aside from him. He sends his regards and is very sorry he had to cancel last minute like that. I had some words with him, let me tell you that. I think it was very rude of him.’

‘Oh, Madame, don’t be too harsh. A man’s got to have a hobby,’ Crowley said with a shit-eating grin. _Luckily for him this particular’s man passion was more lunacy and complete obsession rather than anything else._ So, happy to see that his demonic plan worked for once instead of blowing up in his face, he thanked whoever was listening up high for taking mercy on him at least on his wedding day and turned towards the backdoor of the house where he could see Harriet linger in the door-frame, obviously feeling unwelcome. He waved her over preparing for la crème de la crème of this particular evening which was meeting Warlock’s “beau”.

_What was wrong with him?_ He was marrying Aziraphale, the love of his life, the angel he had loved from times immemorial. Who had been there through thick and thin. Who had come for him in both Italy and Spain during some of the harshest times of his life. Who comforted him and loved him back. Who had stood by his side while confronting Satan himself – even if judging by God’s last words on the matter maybe not even Lucifer himself had wanted the world to come to an end in the first place. _No matter_. This was probably the happiest day of his life so how come he was taking petty joys in embarrassing Warlock and considering it the height of his day? _Probably because of all that demonness? Was that a word? Demonicness? Something or other_.

So he was rather lost in thought when Harriet approached with a wary smile on her face and offered him a bouquet of white tulips.

‘I wasn’t sure I was welcome here today. What with everything, you know.’

‘Nonsense. You’re a good mum. And honestly it was about time you did what you did – for your sake more than anything. But for War’s sake as well, of course. Are you doing alright?’

‘More than. I moved out of the house and got a flat in Belgravia. My family tried to convince me to go back to the States, but Warlock’s life is here and even if he spends more time with you than anyone else, I still want to be here for him if he needs me.’

‘Did you meet the boyfriend? What’s he like?’ Crowley winked conspiratorially even if it was barely visible from behind the sunglasses.

‘Oh, he is amazing! A true angel!’

‘_Really?_’ Crowley’s tone was like treacle as he placed his hands on his hips, waiting for the two of them to step out of the house.

And soon enough they did, Warlock coming out first while holding the hand of another tall and lanky teen, almost a head taller than Warlock, which meant two inches taller than Crowley. The boy was dressed in a lilac suit which was a fact that Crowley instantly held against him, fighting back nasty memories from Upstairs. But other than the suit, the boy did look positively angelic – and that is to say in the nice way - not like the other angels he had met thus far. He had straight dark-blond hair, long enough to reach his shoulders and warm amber eyes and the way he smiled at Warlock made Crowley instantly forgive him for his choice of colour palette.

Warlock waved at the other teens who were sitting at the far edge of the lawn and were most probably plotting something and then made his way towards Crowley, tugging at the taller’s boy hand.

‘Hey War, and who might your friend be?’ Crowley threw them both a toothy smile that he knew enraged Warlock to no end.

‘Um…this is Cleo…he’s…um…’

The demon had never seen him so flustered ever in his life.

‘I’m your boyfriend, you twat,’ the tall teen said with a cheeky glint in his eye and gave Warlock a playful push.

‘Um…yeah…that,’ Warlock supplied intelligently as he scratched the back of his neck.

_Oh, Crowley was going to have so so much fun with this._

There was some more commotion inside the house and then Newt came out at a brisk pace trying his best not to run while carrying a baby.

‘They’re, _huh_…they’re ready,’ he said only a little out of breath.

_Okay so this was it._

_This was it._

_Oh fuck._

_Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck._

Cleo tightened his grip on Warlock’s hand before he let go and went to sit down on one of the white chairs in front of the canopy. Harriet did the same and sat down as did the Youngs and all the teens minus Adam and Warlock himself who actually snapped his fingers at Adam and tilted his head to the other head of the aisle.

He fished a phone out of his pocket and started playing the playlist he had spent a lot of time putting together over the last few months.

The Wedding March started to play because _of course it did_ and Crowley gulped.

He looked around in a daze and for the first time spotted there was no vicar to be had. A short panic gripped him before he realised they needed no one to preside over the ceremony. All they needed to do was to recite their vows to each other. _But then Aziraphale would be so disappointed_. He wanted to do it the proper way all along.

His eyes found Adam’s who smiled widely and offered a thumbs up.

And then he realised he couldn’t give a damn about anything else as he saw Aziraphale step out of the house and onto the lawn amidst the lilies and the orange blossoms and his heart swelled so much he felt that he was either going to have a heart attack or hyperventilate or…something…anything. His breath caught in his throat and he fought back shedding a tear. _He was a demon. Demons didn’t shed any tears._

Yet looking at the angel in all his resplendent glory all he wanted to do was throw himself down at Aziraphale’s feet and worship him. Sing him chants and divine harmonies. Spend his each and every minute for the rest of eternity in prayer.

Aziraphale smiled at him as if he hung the moon. _That wasn’t true, he was just on star duty back in the day_. But the joy and love in the angel’s eyes couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.

It seemed like an eternity until Aziraphale reached the canopy but, at the same time, gone during an instant and he wanted to cherish this moment forever. Preserve it in a glass bubble. Never let it go.

The angel was beautiful and only when they were sitting face to face he realised they matched outfits, so concentrated had he been on the loving look on Aziraphale’s face that he had forgotten everything else. The world could end right now and he wouldn’t notice it. 

The matching outfits whole thing was probably some of Anathema's and Warlock's meddling going about making sure the white tie just happened but he couldn’t be bothered at the moment to focus on anything else other than the angel’s immense baby blue eyes that crinkled at the edges. He wanted to forget about all of the people around and wrap his arms around Aziraphale and kiss him like there was no tomorrow.

He faintly realised the angel was pinning something to his buttonhole next to his orange blossom.

He also vaguely caught movement in the corner of his eye underneath the canopy_. Good, the vicar was here_. That was good because he feared his knees were going to give in if he kept staring at his beautiful angel much longer.

‘Alright, so how are we doing this?’ he heard a female voice ask cheerfully and clap her hands together.

_Wait a minute._

_No._

_Oh please, God, no…._

_Not the most apt of phrasings, that._

He turned towards the rose clad delicate structure and saw a tall figure dressed in all-white robes that was inspecting them with a slightly amused look on her face. _Well, Her face, more like_.

She had long hair that reached Her mid-back, curling around in rivulets, so white it almost shone silver.

Her eyes were the deepest blue imaginable. She winked at Crowley and then clapped Her hands again and returned Her gaze to the both of them.

‘So, heard you boys are getting hitched.’

_Oh, NO!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now some Flower Language bullshit:
> 
> Gloxinia - Love at First Sight  
Ivy - Wedded Love, Fidelity, Friendship, Affection  
Jasmine (Stephanotis) - Happiness in Marriage  
Lily (Calla) - Beauty  
Lily of the Valley - Sweetness, Return to Happiness, You've Made My Life Complete  
Orange Blossom - Eternal Love, Marriage and Fruitfulness  
Peony - Happy Life, Happy Marriage  
Rose (Pink) - Perfect Happiness, Please Believe Me  
Rose (Thornless) - Love at First Sight  
Rose (White) - I am Worthy of You, You're Heavenly  
Roses (Garland or Crown of) - Beware of Virtue, Reward of Merit, Crown - Symbol of Superior Merit  
Stock - Bonds of Affection, You'll Always Be Beautiful to Me  
Tulip (White) - Forgiveness, Repentance  
Violet (Blue) - Watchfulness, Faithfulness, I'll Always Be There
> 
> There's another flower that gets mentioned the next chapter. A bit out of place in the colour scheme but Aziraphale wanted to make a point.
> 
> As ever, thanks to [HolRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolRose/pseuds/HolRose) for her lovely thoughts!


	70. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so so hard to write - and I guess this is the end of the story. Maybe I'll write an Epilogue, maybe I'll write bonus chapters but this is my main ending. So here goes - my baby that I started writing as early as June of last year. I cannot believe that we are at an end, you wonderful wonderful people who have been here with me through thick and thin.  
I can't promise that I won't write more stuff since I already have an Epilogue in mind but I have no idea if and when that would get published. And it has nothing to do with our main two. I always planned to end it with the wedding so here goes. I hope you enjoy it!

**Saturday. Six years eleven months and eleven days after the end of the world. 6pm.**  
**Eden Cottage. Exterior.**

Crowley couldn’t help but stare. _This wasn’t happening. Not now._

He must have fainted, too caught up with his strength of emotion for his angel, and had probably had hit his head in the process.

Aziraphale looked wide eyed at God for a moment and then turned to Crowley and beamed at him even wider than before.

_This was not how it was supposed to go_. They were supposed to have an ordinary, normal wedding. He didn’t ponder over the fact that nothing on this particular occasion was at all ordinary. He was a demon, marrying an angel in the backyard of a house that they shared together. The Antichrist, near-Antichrist and a bunch of children that had helped prevent the Apocalypse were in attendance. As were a witch and a lady whose body Aziraphale had inhabited that one time. _And all the other people too_, he supposed.

_But this wasn’t in accordance with any plan._

_Wait._

_Oh, no_, he groaned.

_Please miss me with that bullshit._

God smiled widely at him with a slightly raised eyebrow as if to urge him to say something. Not that he could do much in the talking department at the moment.

‘Ngk,’ he managed and apparently that made Her chuckle.

‘I see he’s still just as articulate,’ God commented to Aziraphale just loud enough for the two of them to hear.

The people in attendance were eyeing each other warily.

Well, the Youngs and Harriett certainly were. Madame Tracy had been there on the airbase tarmac after all so she could tell something otherworldly was taking place but thought it best not to inquire too much about it. She had her quiet life and little bungalow now and she wanted to keep stuff that way, not get involved in stopping whatever other supernatural disasters there were. Anathema squinted very hard trying to read the newcomer’s aura and when she failed to do that turned to Newt and lifted his chin up as he had been staring mouth agape. All of the kids were well aware of what was happening since Adam wasn’t the most secretive of people. Cleo included, since War wasn’t all that secretive either.

He had taken the whole thing well enough as if it was a normal, everyday occurrence to join your boyfriend to his godparents’ wedding when said godparents were an angel and a demon and the service would be presided over by God. _Oh, and my best mate’s the Antichrist_, no big deal, that.

It took him a week to come to grips with it and by the end of that week Warlock had driven himself into a frenzy fearing he did the wrong thing in telling Cleo any of it. I was just that he really really liked him and he wanted him around for a while and both Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s idiosyncrasies, not to mention Crowley’s eyes, would be bound to raise questions eventually.

When Cleo had eventually called back, Warlock had nearly knocked one of Aziraphale’s stashes of books over in a rush to get to the phone. Aziraphale had thrown him a Look but hadn’t provided any extra comments.

_‘Fine, I believe you. Had a complete meltdown when I realised that what I argued __about __with my grandma for all my life that didn’t exist __very much exists.__ And that __she__ had been right all along. Big bummer, that.’_ Warlock snorted at that last bit. _‘But I do believe you. And I like you enough to try and make this work. So what if you come as a package deal with several supernatural entities. It’s fine. Let me take you out for drinks. Well, no, you’d be taking me out __for drinks __since you’re the one with the fake ID.’_

_‘You had me so worried.’_

_‘Didn’t mean to. But_ _,_ _you know…it’s all a bit…’_

_‘Much?’_

_‘Yeah. Although I shouldn’t be that surprised. Trust myself to be myself and fall in love with the weirdest guy out there.’_

Warlock stammered something about how _“sure, they’ll be going out for drinks__”_ and then shut down his phone completely.

_Right. So that had been a thing._

Right now he was eyeing Cleo with an apprehensive look on his face since God Herself had made an appearance and he feared that would definitely push him over the edge.

Cleo returned his gaze with a loving smile.

_Oh, he was so completely and utterly fucked._

Unbeknownst to him a certain demon had similar thoughts on the matter.

‘Crowley, you seem tense, why don’t you go first?’ God said as She smiled at him.

‘I…um…what?’

‘With the vows. I think they’re traditional, if I remember correctly. Seems easier this way. Get it out of the way and all.’

_He really wasn’t getting away from this, was he. _

He didn’t appear to be getting out of it, so he drew a deep breath and soldiered on.

‘Angel…Aziraphale…I love you. I think I’ve always loved you, but…you know…thick-headed demon, me. I think I fell for you right on that goddamn wall back in Eden,’ he said with an embarrassed peal of laughter.

The people in attendance eyed each other.

God waved a hand and at the end of the whole affair no one could remember the vows exactly, just that they had been lovely. _The two of them deserved th__at__, at least._

‘I had cards,’ the demon said and took out a stack of cards from his breast pocket. He took a look at them and threw them over his shoulder. ‘I can’t do this with cards, Aziraphale. I can’t recite some impersonal mumbo-jumbo that I wrote forever ago to you. You deserve better than that, angel.’

Aziraphale was looking at him with all the adoration that existed in the world.

‘I loved you in Paris in the seventeen-hundreds and in Spain in the sixteen-hundreds. I loved you in Venice in that shitawful mess of a century. In Rome when we had oysters. In Alexandria. In Jerusalem. I loved you even when that Babel Tower nonsense took place and you wanted to convince them all to speak the same language. I loved you in Macedonia, in Mesopotamia, in Assyria. I’ve loved you since time immemorial. I am completely and utterly yours. You are the best thing to have ever happened to me. You are my everything, angel.’

He took a pause and drew another deep breath while looking at his feet. _He couldn’t do this_, he just couldn’t. He tried, though. He would always try for his angel.

‘I always wanted to gather up all of the poems, all of the romance novels, all of the lovely things people came up with and gift them to you. To recite Sappho and Homer, Chaucer and Donne, Wordsworth and Byron and Keats and bloody Blake for you. Remember when I said I didn’t read? I lied. I read them all. Had them memorised just for you. Learned all of Will’s works for you as well, even the sad ones. But what I loved the most were the sonnets. You cannot go wrong with the sonnets. The sod himself knew about it and teased me with some of them relentlessly. _“__If I could write the beauty of your eyes, And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say 'This poet lies: Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces”._’

Aziraphale stepped closer and cupped his cheek.

Crowley closed his eyes and tried his best not to cry.

_Demons absolutely didn’t cry. _He was a demon. Ergo…

‘_Oh, how thy worth with manners may I sing, When thou art all the better part of me? What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? And what is ’t but mine own when I praise thee?_’

‘Oh, darling!’

‘I’m not done yet, angel. I know I make no sense but hear me out.’

The angel nodded.

‘You are perfection incarnate. There isn’t any part of you that I simply don’t adore.’

‘Gross!’ Warlock exclaimed in the background. Cleo shot him a Look™ and shook his head.

Crowley was too caught up in his own thing to even notice.

‘I willingly give myself to you and will do so for as long as you’ll have me. For my part I can spend the rest of Eternity just basking in your angelic grace, asking my lucky stars what did I ever do to be able to call you mine. Not that I would ever presume that you were if that’s something that…’

‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale asked as he placed a finger on his chin and raised it so that their eyes would meet.

‘Angel?’

‘Yours, always.’

This time Crowley really did fight himself from openly sobbing.

‘You know that, dearest, you surely must know that.’

He nodded furiously and stared at the ground some more.

_Nope, he absolutely couldn’t do this. _

Apparently someone took mercy on him and that Someone was God.

‘Right then, that was lovely. He does indeed do a stellar job while reciting Shakespeare,’ She said as She turned to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s eyes were moist, Crowley couldn’t help but notice when he chanced a glance at the angel.

‘Well then…um…rather.’

God tilted her head and waited patiently, the picture of divine grace. Well, She should be, shouldn’t She.

‘My dear…my darling…I’m at a loss for words,’ Aziraphale stated and then proceeded to monologue.

‘I’ve felt the same way about you for such a long time. You are mine and I am yours and will continue to be until the End of existence if I have anything to say about it. You always said, about the poems. But I always felt the same, dearest. So let me return the favour.’

Aziraphale cupped his cheeks with both of his hands and looked deep into his eyes even if they were hidden by the sunglasses.

‘Where is that holy fire, which Verse is said  
To have? is that inchanting force decai'd?  
Verse that drawes Natures workes, from Natures law,  
Thee, her best worke, to her worke cannot draw.  
Have my teares quench'd my old Poetique fire;  
Why quench'd they not as well, that of desire?  
Thoughts, my mindes creatures, often are with thee,  
But I, their maker, want their libertie.  
Onely thine image, in my heart, doth sit,  
But that is waxe, and fires environ it.  
My fires have driven, thine have drawne it hence;  
And I am rob'd of Picture, Heart, and Sense.  
Dwells with me still mine irksome Memory,  
Which, both to keepe, and lose, grieves equally.  
That tells me'how faire thou art: Thou art so faire,  
As, gods, when gods to thee I doe compare.’

Crowley looked from the angel to God Herself with a terrified expression on his face. This was blasphemy, plain and simple. _Angel what the fuck are you doing? _God didn't seemed bothered, not in the slightest.

‘Are grac'd thereby; And to make blinde men see,  
What things gods are, I say they'are like to thee.  
For, if we justly call each silly man  
A litle world, What shall we call thee than?  
Thou art not soft, and cleare, and strait, and faire,  
As Down, as Stars, Cedars, and Lillies are,  
But thy right hand, and cheek, and eye, only  
Are like thy other hand, and cheek, and eye.  
Such was my Phao awhile, but shall be never,  
As thou, wast, art, and, oh, maist be ever.  
Here lovers sweare in their Idolatrie,  
That I am such; but Griefe discolors me.  
And yet I grieve the lesse, least Griefe remove  
My beauty, and make me'unworthy of thy love.  
Plaies some soft boy with thee, oh there wants yet  
A mutuall feeling which should sweeten it.  
His chinne, a thorny hairy unevennesse  
Doth threaten, and some daily change possesse.  
Thy body is a naturall Paradise,  
In whose selfe, unmanur'd, all pleasure lies,  
Nor needs perfection; why shouldst thou than  
Admit the tillage of a harsh rough man?  
Men leave behinde them that which their sin showes,  
And are as theeves trac'd, which rob when it snows.  
But of our dallyance no more signes there are,  
Then fishes leave in streames, or Birds in aire.  
And betweene us all sweetnesse may be had;  
All, all that Nature yields, or Art can adde.  
My two lips, eyes, thighs, differ from thy two,  
But so, as thine from one another doe;  
And, oh, no more; the likenesse being such,  
Why should they not alike in all parts touch?  
Hand to strange hand, lippe to lippe none denies;  
Why should they brest to brest, or thighs to thighs?  
Likenesse begets such strange selfe flatterie,  
That touching my selfe, all seemes done to thee.  
My selfe I embrace, and mine owne hands I kisse,  
And amorously thanke my selfe for this.  
Me, in my glasse, I call thee; But alas,

When I would kisse, teares dimme mine eyes, and glasse.  
O cure this loving madnesse, and restore  
Me to mee; thee, my halfe, my all, my more.  
So may thy cheekes red outweare scarlet dye,  
And their white, whitenesse of the Galaxy,  
So may thy mighty, amazing beauty move  
Envy'in all women, and in all men, love,  
And so be change, and sicknesse, farre from thee,  
As thou by comming neere, keep'st them from me.’

Crowley was speechless. More than that. He fought very hard with his inner self to not lose it completely and either turn into a snake and slither away or break down sobbing.

‘I meant every word, dearest. You are my half. My all.’

_Okay_, so previous plan long forgotten, Crowley did break down as tears started going down his face.

_What had ever done to deserve this?_ It must have been something awfully good since this was more than he could wish for in his wildest dreams.

Aziraphale saw his obvious distress and put his arms around him while kissing his forehead.

‘Are you alright, darling?’

Crowley nodded, by now his head resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

‘Rings then,’ God intoned happily.

Both Adam and Warlock stepped closer bearing said rings and Aziraphale took both of them from the boys since Crowley wasn’t in a fit state to do anything at the moment.

The angel first pushed the golden ring on Crowley’s finger after searching his face for a silent okay. The demon offered the curtest of nods and then stared at the ring for what felt like forever.

He then placed the silver band in Crowley’s hand and presented his own for consideration.

Crowley stared some more. First at the ring and then at Aziraphale’s hand.

He finally seemed to reach a decision and slid the ring on Aziraphale’s finger.

‘Well, then. Glad to get that over with. With the power vested in Me by…Me, I guess, I declare the two of you married.’

Crowley must have blacked out for a second there because the next thing he knew he was being kissed thoroughly by Aziraphale as the angel had one hand gripping the lapel of his tailcoat and the nape of his neck with the other.

It took him a couple of seconds to reciprocate but he did eventually.

Then there were cheers and claps and rice-throwing and the like.

He took a step backwards and glanced at the angel. _At his Husband._

He felt weak in the knees.

He continued to feel weak in the knees as everyone in attendance strolled over to offer their congratulations.

He shook a lot of hands and said a lot of thanks but it was all done on auto-pilot.

At some point he could feel a hand snake around his waist and Aziraphale’s head resting on his shoulder.

‘So, darling. We did this. We’re here now. I can by rights call you my husband.’

‘Mmmyeah.’

‘Oh, you are precious, getting all tongue-tied like that,’ Aziraphale smirked and kissed his cheek.

He resented that.

He was neither precious nor tongue-tied.

_He was a demon. Demons weren’t any of those things._

‘Let’s join the rest of the party, dearest. Or, should I say, husband mine.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent ages reading through all of Shakespeare's sonnets and Donne's work. By ages, I mean all of four hours but still- seemed like a lot. I even defaced my Donne book with pink highlighter. Awful, that.  
The sonnets that Crowley quotes are no. 17 and no. 39.  
The poem that Aziraphale recites is John Donne's 'Sappho to Philænis'. I found it really fitting for the two of them.  
Do comment, that always brings a smile on my face.


	71. The Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are - a full year later after I posted the first chapter and I felt like posting some more as an Ao3 anniversary present to myself. :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There MAY yet be an epilogue.

It took a while to coax Crowley into any semblance of normal speech patterns but he got there eventually after having dealt with the enormity of what was happening to him the best way that he knew how. And that was by deciding to ignore it altogether. _I mean, how did you deal with having just married the love of your very long life and an actual angel while also being the proud owner of a cottage by the sea?_ In which he now lived. With said angel. It did not help that God was making small talk with the Youngs by the buffet table and stuffing Her face full of canapes.

The Them were doing their thing and Warlock and Cleo were being far too disgustingly sweet not to rub it in later on with a passion. But that was for later. For now he had to focus on more imminent stuff like the fact that he was gently being nudged with a champagne flute.

The person doing the nudging was Aziraphale while bearing a warm expression on his face but also that certain glint in his eye that warned Crowley of nothing good later on. He believed the word “sweet” would be involved, or some other nonsense. You didn’t know someone for six thousand years and miss stuff like that. You just didn’t.

It took him another several seconds to actually realise what the nudging was in relation to. Aziraphale threw Anathema a glance and Crowley inferred that there had been questions involved. Questions involving him, at least, since for questions of a general nature he strongly believed that Aziraphale was far more better equipped than he was, as a rule in general, him being quite verbose even on his usually quiet days, and in this situation in particular since Crowley’s brain seemed to have packed its bags and took off.

‘Wossat?’

‘I was asking how does it feel to be a newly wed,’ Anathema supplied with a far too knowing smirk.

‘S fine.’

‘Just fine? Darling, you wound me,’ Aziraphale faux-pouted in that adorable way of his that Crowley would never get tired of.

‘You know what I mean, angel. It’s like…the same. But different. Good different,’ he added so as to make sure there was any doubt about that. ‘S new, is all.’

Aziraphale beamed at him some, lovely ray of sunshine that he was.

‘You two are adorable,’ Anathema chuckled as she downed her glass of champagne.

Crowley thought for a good long moment to set fire to her dress, _see how adorable that was, damn witch_, but of course Aziraphale noticed him sneering at her and placed a hand on his lower back in the internationally acknowledged sign of “I am here for you but also you need to fucking chill” that Crowley got immediately but then grumbled some excuses and went to refill his glass.

If they wanted to call him adorable they could at least have the decency to do it behind his back. He didn’t need to hear such slander right to his face. And on his wedding day, no less. _The nerve on some people!_

He was halfway into pouring himself unspeakable amounts of champagne when he felt a hand lightly touch his shoulder.

He expected it to be Aziraphale who had decided to come over and scold him a bit about storming off but he was…_very very wrong in that respect_, he realised as he turned around and lifted his gaze only to stare God in the eye for a little bit, at a loss of words.

Not that words were something that came naturally to him on this blessed (in all senses and proper connotations of the word be you either angel or demon) day.

‘Um…’ was the best he could come up with after a good solid minute.

God smiled.

‘Is this what you wanted?’

‘Wut?’

‘This, all of this,’ She drew a wide circle with her hand around the gathering, the lawn, the house, encompassing them all.

She looked resplendent in Her white robes. Almost like…Before.

Not that the humans could ever possibly know or suspect. But he knew and it was enough.

‘I…I guess…’

‘You guess? After all of this time I frankly expected a bit more conviction than that.’

‘Wha….’ His voice faded away mid syllable as She snaked an arm around one of his and led him away from the buffet table at a leisurely stroll with no actual destination in mind.

‘Are you happy, Crowley?’

_Where did this come from? Of course he was happy. He was on fucking cloud number nine. No, scratch that. Clouds sucked. Heaven sucked. But he was deliriously ecstatic, wasn’t it obvious?_

‘Um. Yeah.’

‘Crowley. Listen to me.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Please tell me. Are you happy?’

He nodded furiously in response.

‘Good.’

She took two steps forward before spinning on Her heels and throwing him an indescribable expression.

‘Do you think he is?’ She was obviously looking at Aziraphale who was at the moment debating whatever it was he were debating with Anathema. He was smiling wildly and waving his hands about in an animated matter.

‘I… I hope so.’

‘Good. You two are good for each other. Not that I ever doubted it.’

Crowley had no possible reply to that.

‘I hope you can forgive me,’ She said as She placed both of her hands on his shoulders and started stroking Her thumbs over them.

‘Can you?’

_Could he?_ This was God they were talking about_. How could you even forgive God?_ Was there anything to forgive in the first place?

He remembered his Fall but that was entirely his own doing so She shouldn’t even ask him stuff about it.

_Why was She?_

‘Why does it matter?’

‘What do you mean, of course it matters.’

‘You never asked any of the others to forgive you,’ he lowered his eyes for more reasons then one, the most obvious one being that he was clearly pointing towards Hell.

‘Well, none of the others fought so hard to preserve my creation as you did. None of the other angels either. I didn’t ask for forgiveness out of their lot either.’

‘Maybe you should ask him,’ Crowley was still looking downwards but it was clear who they were talking about.

‘And I will, in due course. But I’ll have you know this, Crowley. It was never about death and destruction. About violence and wrath and hatred. It was about this – what you two managed to find. _Always_. Even when it all seemed bleak and hopeless and everyone thought about giving up. Humans have such optimism. Such will to succeed. To make it all matter in the end. Like you two did. So?’

‘Yes,’ he could hear his voice inside his ears even if it felt more like an outer body experience. Suddenly his throat was too tight and his knees were weak and he felt dizzy all over.

‘Good,’ She smiled at him and kissed his forehead.

And that did it.

His brain must have short circuited. Of that he was certain because it appeared that when he came to his senses yet again, She had been speaking for a while.

‘…and there must never be any doubt in your mind that you have My blessing. Always had.’

He could only manage a weak nod and even God must have realised that if there was even the slightest chance of the demon properly (or improperly, as it was the case) functioning for the rest of the evening She’d better go and find the other half of the pair instead. So She squeezed his shoulder one more time and went in search of his Heavenly counterpart.

Crowley decided more champagne was in order.

He could not, for the life of him, tell how much time had passed before Warlock loudly announced that it was time for them two to dance. Which got Warlock a _Look_. But it also got Crowley one of those adoring expressions of the angelic variety that he could not resist.

Aziraphale extended a hand and Crowley made a show out of rolling his eyes but took it nonetheless as Shostakovitch started playing.

‘You have got to be kidding me,’ he mumbled only loud enough for the angel to hear. ‘You two have been planning this for a while, haven’t you?’

‘A short while yes. Although I do believe Warlock had it in mind for far longer. Do let me lead, dear, you don’t even know the steps since you never bothered joining us.’

‘The afternoon in the bookshop.’

‘Yes, darling.’

‘All of those years ago.’

‘Yes,’ Aziraphale spun them around since Crowley could not properly coordinate brain-to-leg synapses.

‘Oh, that cheeky fu -’

‘Maybe it would be best to stop thinking about Warlock and start thinking about counting steps. You stepped on my feet four times already.’

‘You are also a cheeky f -whoa!’

He was spun around some more and he could swear he could hear God complain about not having a smartphone of Her own to film all of this while Adam and the gang did have a smartphone, actually several of them, and actually did film this. He would have to make sure to corrupt their files at a latter date because it would not do for them to have blackmail material.

At some point, when the tune changed, Anathema took pity on the two of them and led Newt under the garlands to join in on the dance. As soon as the Youngs joined as well, Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and led him towards safer territory even if not by much. God smiled at them. _Fuckity fuck fuck._

By now Warlock was drawing his mother by the hand towards the rest of the dancers and Cleo was offering his hand to Madame Tracy who was extraordinarily pleased by the turn of events.

The Them were doing whatever it was they were doing best which was probably plot some shenanigans.

Which meant that the previously thought “safe territory” included one ethereal being who seemed to have had quite a lot of champagne.

‘Best be off,’ She winked at the two of them. ‘It would be unseemly for any of the others to see me tipsy. But best of luck, the both of you.’

Aziraphale frowned a bit at the _“any of the others bit”_ but managed his most courteous smile and even a little bow. Which earned him a giggle and then a hiccup.

And, next thing they knew, their backyard was devoid of any ethereal or occult presences other then the two owners themselves.

‘Well that was certainly…’ Crowley gestured around pondering whether _“weird”_ or _“weird as fuck”_ best conveyed his thoughts.

‘Ineffable?’

‘I will throw a fit, angel.’

‘You will do no such thing, darling. We’re married now. You have to put up with me and all of my nonsense,’ he wiggled happily and made a fuss out of adjusting Crowley’s lapels.

‘And you with mine, angel. I swear I will try my hardest to be a proper menace,’ he smiled back but the movement caught his eye and he glanced at the flower Aziraphale had pinned to his buttonhole for the very first time since before the ceremony.

‘I have absolutely no doubt about it -’

‘Angel. Is that what I think it is?’

‘If by that you mean that it’s a tulip, then yes, my darling, it is.’

‘A variegated tulip angel. I _will_ throw a fit. Not to mention that it completely throws the whole colour scheme off,’ he huffed at the offending red and yellow flower.

‘I think it was more about the message it sent, dear.’

‘I…I…you are an absolute bastard,’ Crowley managed before he started kissing Aziraphale in a fashion that certainly did not befit a polite audience.

‘Come on, angel, I need to show you something,’ he managed eventually when he drew back to catch his breath and, not waiting for Aziraphale to properly reply, dragged him towards the side of the house and in between the thick vines and kissed him some more to his heart’s content.

‘Crowley, we should head back,’ the angel said but his tone wasn’t all that convinced and his eyes painted a different story. ‘It’s impolite towards the guests and mmmphh!’

This kiss however didn’t last long as Crowley immediately snapped to attention and let his eyes turn full serpent as he let his forked out to taste the air.

He felt it instantly and he once again grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and guided him towards the garden upfront.

_It was Hellish, that smell_, there was no doubt about it. You don’t spend millennia visiting it without recognising it instantly.

_If they were to be made examples out of, at least they wouldn’t let them hurt the humans_, he thought.

‘Hello, darling,’ he could hear as if it was whispered directly into his ear. He shivered. He really didn’t expect a visit from Lucifer himself. He motioned Aziraphale to stay behind him and spun on his heels.

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed. They always did. It was uncanny and tended to throw a lot of people off so supposedly that was the intention to begin with.

He was clad in an expensive looking tuxedo, which was odd but not _that_ odd, since he always dressed impeccably.

‘Oooh, that’s lovely all around. You protecting your angel so much.’

He tilted his head to the side and threw them a wide smile.

‘What do you want? Sir,’ he couldn’t find it in his power to abstain from adding the title.

‘Oh, I’m just here to congratulate you on your special day. You really were one of my favourite ones, Crowley. Such a shame, tsk tsk,’ he clapped his hands and smiled a too wide a smile.

He looked like the Cheshire Cat but if the Cheshire Cat was actual Satan. So, basically, like the Cheshire Cat.

‘Ah, never mind, water under the bridge. Got a new demon out of this whole mess,’ he continued without seeming to notice the angel and the demon’s horrified expressions.

As if on cue, Azrael appeared from behind him, and waved at them both.

‘What is this? What are -’ Crowley’s words got stuck in his throat as he spotted even more uninvited guests. Archangels. _Fuck._

He let his wings manifest and draped his arms over Aziraphale’s shoulders, wings spread over both of their bodies protectively.

‘Brother!’ he could hear Raphael intoning loudly with an amused voice.

He was so focused on the feel of Aziraphale’s warm body pressed tightly to his own to give the voices much mind. This could well be the last time he would hold him, for all he knew.

‘How are you faring, you twat?’

‘Oh, I’m splendid. But do tell me, how’s Gabe?’ Raphael let the ‘twat’ slide. This was Lucifer, after all.

‘I wouldn’t want to ruin these two’s wedding by commenting about that.’

‘Yeah, um, about that…what exactly are they doing?’ Jophiel chimed in.

‘Dunno. I just came to congratulate them after Mum told me about the whole thing. But they seem to act all weird.’

Crowley looked Aziraphale in the eye and raised an eyebrow in confusion. He knew that none of the others would touch his wings – not since they apparently didn’t want to punish them at the time being. That was altogether too intimate. So he had to draw them back himself. He searched Aziraphale’s eyes some more. The angel nodded.

‘Ah, they they are! The happy couple,’ Raphael stated as he clasped his hands.

Crowley’s wings were now sent to their own pocket dimension and he was feeling completely powerless. _And extraordinarily confused._

He realised that if Raphael was here they weren’t exactly in mortal danger. He remembered the Archangel healing him and standing up to Gabriel. Aziraphale seemed to be of the same opinion as he grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

But still, everything seemed to happen in a daze.

There was a strong slap on his back and then someone draped their arm over his shoulders and Aziraphale’s too, it seemed. He raised his head to look at Raphael’s very pleased expression.

‘Congratulations you two. From What Pravuil says it was bloody time. Mum might have mentioned it too once or twice.’

‘Are you…I mean…you…’ Crowley managed, ever so eloquent.

‘Here for the booze, mostly, to be honest. But don’t let that dampen your big day. So where is it? The booze, I mean. I know you must have lots of it. I remember Florence.’

This was said as a nudge was directed at Crowley. And then a wink.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at this.

‘Met your wonderful husband a while back and spent a whole evening discussing art,’ Raphael answered Aziraphale’s unspoken question.

Crowley looked at the others. They were all clad to the nines. Obviously just here for the party.

So they could do nothing but follow the rest of the newly arrived and definitely uninvited guests towards the backyard.

‘Would have expected a bigger turn up, honestly,’ Jophiel commented. Judging by the way she was dressed she probably expected a rather elegant affair at the Ritz instead of a backyard party. ‘The buffet does look lovely, though.’

_Of course it did_. Crowley had made sure it would for Aziraphale’s sake.

Chamuel just threw them a pleasant smile.

‘Do you have any vegetarian options?’ Ariel asked on a tone that implied they should only have vegetarian options.

Aziraphale stared at all of them for a while before he could formulate a response. _This was all getting a bit much._ Four Archangels and Satan himself in his yard. _Well_, three Archangels and two demons if Lucifer’s words bore any weight. He cleared his throat.

‘Of course,’ he managed as he adjusted his bow-tie. ‘After you,’ he motioned the impromptu guests towards the buffet.

‘Angel, what’s happening?’ Crowley whispered in his ear as the others were busy filling their plates.

‘Well, it appears that God might have been oversharing some things.’

‘Yeah, I got that bit, but why are they here?’

‘Apparently because of the ‘booze’ as your chum Raphael put it.’

‘Really? We’re doing this now? And on the evening of our wedding too?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I mean you acting weird over a drunken evening that happened five hundred years ago. And I didn’t even know he was Raphael at the time. I was just enjoying some wine with Leo and he happened to be there.’

‘So you weren’t defaulting to the next angel that crossed your path?’

‘Of course not. You’re the only angel in my life, _angel_,’ Crowley drawled the last word in a manner that made Aziraphale want to send everyone home and have his way with him right there on the buffet table. He didn’t do that, of course. He was a proper host. _But the thought _did_ enter his mind._

‘Darling,’ Aziraphale managed eventually after vanquishing a small plate of macaroons.

He was obviously nervous as he was watching the gathering.

‘Mhm,’ Crowley supplied while sipping on some whisky.

Champagne was all well and good, but one needed to get sloshed when one’s own backyard was suddenly inundated with beings of the metaphysical variety.

_Even if those beings bickered like your great aunt and uncle._

‘You look lovely this evening, darling,’ Lucifer raised his glass at Jophiel and threw her a toothy smile.

‘Not even in your wildest dreams, loverboy,’ Jophiel snapped back and tried to swat him with a long satin glove that she had at one point taken off in order to enjoy the finger food. The effect of her angelic fury was rather spoiled by the fact that her mouth was half full of foie-gras small tarts. 

Chamuel and Ariel were arguing about the necessity of any meat options. _Well_, Ariel was arguing while Chamuel tried to placate her with mindless platitudes such as _“to each their own”_ and _“live and let live”_ to which she commented that that was precisely the point.

All the while Raphael was downing some of his best whisky, Crowley realised and narrowed his eyes. He would snatch that bottle back sooner rather than later before it was all finished. The Archangel was also laughing wholeheartedly at something that Azrael had said. Who was supposedly a demon now. _How did that even work? He would have heard about another Fall, right?_

_Well, he wouldn’t have since he was no longer part of the organisation,_ but surely if anyone was to Fall that should be Gabriel, right? It stood to reason. To him at least.

He actually thought he heard the bastard’s name in the very animated conversation between the two of them and tried to inch nearer to hear better when Aziraphale tried again.

‘Darling?’

‘Yes, angel?’

'Do you maybe think that your former’s employer’s presence here might be at all…problematic?’ the angel nodded his head in Adam’s direction.

Adam was at the moment spinning Pepper around on the imaginary dance floor and, much like everyone else at the party, had the time of their lives. Most of them having shed their jackets already and the young ones at least switching partners in between themselves every now and again while whoever thought they should take a breather was in charge of little Eve. _And Dog, obviously._ Who was remarkably respectful to all of those ankles parading about just waiting to be bitten. Adam had probably had some Words with him.

‘Um, yeah,’ Crowley said after downing yet another glass under Aziraphale’s scrutiny. ‘Can see how that might be a problem.’

‘Do something about it, maybe?’

It was vaguely reminiscent of the angel yelling that at him while inhabiting another body altogether back all those years ago. Not as desperate or as snippy, but similar enough.

‘Fine, yeah. Go and talk to the ole' boss, why don’t you? Why do I need to talk to both of them in a day, hmm? Why don’t you go talk to him, hmm?’

‘Alright,’ Aziraphale cleared his throat, put the now empty plate down on the table and adjusted his bow tie.

Crowley was looking at him with wide eyes and mouth slightly agape as he made his way towards the two bickering entities just a couple of feet away from them.

‘Hello, Jophiel. I hope you are enjoying the party,’ he said first, gifting her with his brightest smile. Crowley knew that smile. It had a sharp edge to it.

‘Oh, yeah, absolutely fab. Where did you managed to get that terrine?’ she retorted, mouth half full again and filling her plate for the fourth time.

‘I think you might need to take that up with Crowley, my dear. Do try the small souffles.’

‘Mhm,’ was recited back and he saw that as his cue to turn towards Lucifer and let the smile become even sharper.

‘While I do appreciate the occult presence all around -’

‘And ethereal,’ Crowley lifted his glass at them helpfully. _Okay, maybe he should sober up._

‘And, as Crowley so eloquently pointed out, ethereal, I do believe there are going to be slight hiccups to your plan to pay us this impromptu visit.’

‘How come?’ Lucifer frowned for a bit and looked around.

His eyes landed on Adam soon enough.

‘Ah.’

‘Ah, indeed. So, as much as I enjoyed all of this, I must kindly ask you all to -’

And it was at this moment that Adam’s eyes landed on them all as well.

Crowley sighed, sobered up instantly while regretting all of that class A alcohol that had just gone to waste, and then he did his signature trick.

Time stopped for everyone except the people of a supernatural nature present at the party. Which meant the music stopped. Which earned them a groan from both Raphael and Jophiel.

Adam looked at the lot with narrowed eyes. And then let go of Pepper’s hand and approached them.

He was slightly sweaty from all of that dancing, jacket long forgotten and sleeves bundled up over his elbows and he had long ago discarded his tie. But other than the vaguely dishevelled state of his appearance he was Lucifer’s absolute spitting image.

The hair was a darker blonde and, since Adam wasn’t a big fan of short haircuts, far more curly and cherubic than it had any right to be.

But, again, other than that – the poise, the figure, the questioning baby blue eyes, even the dimples in the cheeks as they asked a seemingly innocent question while the glint in their eyes said something completely different…it was all there.

‘What are you doing here?’ he pointed a finger at the lot of them, apparently not discriminating between angels and the actual Devil.

‘Well,’ Raphael started – because of course he would be the only one arrogant enough to address the Antichrist on such a flippant tone.

‘No! You lot wanted to hurt my friends. You never get to hurt them. Not ever again.’

He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to, since his eyes were glowing slightly red at the moment and everyone drew a step back.

‘Adam,’ it was Ariel who spoke this time with a warm smile and a hand extended as a peace treaty more than anything.

He fixed his eyes on her.

‘You’re not evil. And you like animals,’ he said after staring at her for a full minute.

‘I do. And I know that you do too. I’ve watched over you from Upstairs. Such a caring young soul, I thought. You would never be able to do anything to hurt the Earth. I knew it as soon as I set eyes on you.’

‘And yet,’ Adam turned around and measured Lucifer up and down. ‘Apparently that was the reason I was put on it to begin with.’

Aziraphale was throwing desperate looks from one to the other hoping that in the aftermath of whatever was to unfold their cottage would at least remain standing.

‘Now hey,’ Lucifer interjected, ‘don’t look at me like that. Not my bright idea to begin with. Blame Mum for that if you want.’

‘And the airbase?’ Adam prodded on.

There is this saying about how dogs resemble their masters, not to mention the one that urges one not to be such a terrier. _Form follows nature, as it were._

‘One needs to put up a show if one is to trick people like that, no?’

‘You looked mighty angry.’

‘It’s called acting, kid. Look it up. Look, I know there’s no love lost between us, and frankly, good on you to stick to your own beliefs and such. But it’s really boring down there and there aren’t a lot of angel and demons weddings to be had all around. Not to mentioned blessed by Mummy dearest. So we could both just do our own thing and be done with it. How about that?’

Adam looked at him some more and then nodded.

‘Alright. But you keep well away from them,’ he pointed at all the humans. ‘And try to make yourself scarce or at least shield yourself for a bit. She can read auras –' he looked at Anathema and all of the other beings in attendance followed his gaze.

There were a couple of nods.

‘Good. Now, Crowley,’ Adam gestured at the lot of them and, a snap of fingers later, everyone was dancing yet again, minus Pepper who was at least slightly surprised that Adam was on the other side of the lawn right now.

Lucifer looked from one to the other and raised an eyebrow.

‘That’s Pepper,’ Adam replied. ‘Don’t get anywhere near her or she will kick you.’

Aziraphale sighed a sigh of relief while Crowley quite unceremoniously took the whisky bottle from Raphael’s hands and poured himself a healthy serving.

It must have been an hour or so later when Anathema and Newt approached them, little Eve soundly asleep in his arms and declared the whole thing to be a blast but, there you have it, young kid and everything, needs must and all.

Two hours later the Youngs approached the newly weds and declared it a hoot. Arthur even decided to tell Lucifer that he looked awfully familiar to which he replied, under Adam’s narrowed gaze, that he just had one of those faces.

Harriet saw it as fit of a time as any to bid them goodnight as well. As did Tracy.

And, after a lot of discussions about who was to drive home with who and the kids’ bedtime (even if none of them were kids anymore), all of the Them and Cleo and Warlock stayed behind by general consensus.

A minor demonic miracle might have been involved in swaying the adults.

God only knew they had enough rooms inside the cottage for all of them to stay over. Not to mention the extra room that led directly inside the bookshop via several more complicated angelic and demonic miracles.

Since they had all partaken in the drinks in a very conspicuous manner (for the angel and demon, at least) they were all put to bed at little over two o’clock. Probably Cleo and War would just go to sleep soon too, they hoped. Before they ruined their couch.

The supernatural entities were not so easy to get rid of, though, they came to realise.

It was a spectacle in it of itself seeing them finish all of their Moet&Chandon bottles. Then completely obliterating their Veuve Clicqot collection. Only for Crowley to audibly hiss at them when Raphael mentioned the Mcallan. And then completely barrelling through the Chateau Lafitte.

Crowley and Aziraphale were sitting on the ground, back resting against an ancient fence and passing over one of the bottles that Crowley had managed to salvage while looking at the ongoing party probably up until dawn.

They were all monumentally drunk but laughing and telling jokes and at some point Crowley had been taken to the side by Raphael and told the long and the short of the Gabriel and Michael tale. Which was nice because, _well, fuck Gabriel and Michael_. But, on the other hand, Aziraphale was looking at Raphael like he wanted to smite him then and there. That wasn’t nice. _Or maybe it was_, he thought as he threw the angel an all-knowing wink.

That had been probably two whole hours ago.

Then Jophiel had started to be snotty about impressionists to which both Raphael and Lucifer replied with snorts and with plainly calling her a snob.

Aziraphale had to hide his smile behind his wine glass and Crowley just couldn’t give a shit so he started laughing out loud.

Then, at some point, Raphael started debating all of his conquests and the two of them just drifted off towards the far side of the green watching the group from a distance.

‘What say ye, angel,’ Crowley began, swaying slightly.

‘Don’t you start with Will right now, dear boy.’

‘Okay. Alright. Dear husband of mine,’ Crowley tried again and nearly collapsed onto Aziraphale in a fit of giggles. ‘D’ya think it’s gonna be like this for the next six thousand years?’

‘What, you mean having absolutely no privacy and having people from Headoffice pop in whenever they darn well please?’ Aziraphale retorted but there was no bite to his words. He realised that all of the others present wanted whatever the two of them had wanted from the very beginning.

To be free. To be left alone. To be human, almost. Free will came along with the whole package.

Jophiel was doing what could only be defined as grass angels since there was no snow around. 

Azrael was admonishing the ducks in the duck pond. The ducks were giving him the evil eye. He would pay a hefty price for that later on when he would fall asleep on the porch.

Lucifer and Raphael were already loudly snoring with their heads almost bumped together and their backs leaning on the buffet table.

And Chamuel was telling Ariel a joke about three penguins walking into a bar that got a standing ovation.

Aziraphale didn’t get the punchline but he didn’t care very much as he stroked Crowley’s hair while Crowley tried his best impression of either a koala or a boa constrictor around him.

Then angle wasn’t right.

The fact that they were sitting in pristine white-tie suits in dewy grass wasn’t either.

Nor was the fact that their yard was filled with angels and demons.

But feeling Crowley’s heartbeat against his own... That was perfectly alright.

Getting God’s blessing. That had him shed a tear or twenty.

Being surrounded by so many loving people who had become such an important part of their lives.

Getting a house together.

Being married.

He turned his gaze Heavenwards and uttered a small prayer.

And then he leaned down and placed a kiss on Crowley’s temple.

All of it. All of this. This was more than alright.

‘Myeah, that,’ Crowley mumbled from where he had hidden his face in the crook of the angel’s neck.

‘I do think so indeed, darling. And guess what? It is going to be a glorious rest of eternity for us. Together.’

He placed his cheek on Crowley’s head and smiled.

And then the sun rose.

It looked like a bright new day.

The first one of many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Variegated Tulips - in Flower Language mean "Beautiful Eyes" - which is absolutely something that I think Aziraphale would like to convey to Crowley. While being a complete bastard too. It is mentioned in passing 2 chapters ago.
> 
> The dance is Shostakovitch Waltz no.2 mentioned in chapter 34.
> 
> Dog eyeing the ankles wistfully comes from Ollie (the wonderful canine specimen on the show) actually biting David's ankle while filming.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting, it has been a hoot!
> 
> If you liked this awful mess I have an equally long fic in the works, [Something to remember me by](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22220305/chapters/53055079), and I am currently working on a fic for the 2020 MiniBang called [A Mighty Flame Followeth A Tiny Spark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25166653/chapters/60985312). And there's also a human AU one as well - [Once upon a time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619551/chapters/62187403)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Engagement Ring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23274706) by [FeatheredSnake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheredSnake/pseuds/FeatheredSnake)


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